The lost heir

THE
10STHEIR

G.A.HENTY

s

Cf — «^

SIMCOE RAN IN WITH HIS KNIFE AND ATTACKED THE TIGER.
The Lost Heir, ~-Pa<re 4,

THE LOST HEIR

BY

G. A. HENTY

Af^kor o» "The Boy Knight," "Sturdy and Strong," "Tree
the Old Flag," "With Clive in India," etc.

M. A. DONOHUE & CO

CHICAGO

Sea« of Educ. a*,

°\*U

Hff&t

JU^

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER

PAQB

I.

A Brave Action, . • • •

1

II.

In the South Seas,

. . . 14

m.

A Deaf Girl, . . • •

. 27

IV.

The Gypsy

. 40

v.

A Gambling Den, ....

. 53

VI.

. 65

VII.

John Simcoe's Friend, . . .

. 77

VIII.

General Mathieson's Seizure, ,

. . 90

IX.

A Strange Illness, . . .

. . 103

X.

Two Heavy Blows, . . .

. . 113

XL

A Startling Will, . . ,

. . 124

XII.

Dr. Leeds Speaks, . . .

. 137

XIII.

Metta Visits Stowmabket, . .

. o 150

XIV.

An Advertisement, . . ,

XV.

. 176

XVI.

A Fresh Clew, ....

. 193

XVII.

Netta Acts Independently, •

. 206

XVIII.

Down in the Marshes, . .

XIX.

A Partial Success, . • .

. 233

XX.

A Dinner Party, . • •

XXI.

A Box at the Opera, •

. 263

XXII.

Nearing the Goal, . . .

XXIII.

. 287

XXIV.

A New Barge, , . •

XXV.

A Crushing Exposure . . .

. 816

XXVL

A Letter from Abroad, . .

. , , 380

THE LOST HEIR

CHAPTEE I.

A BEAVE ACTION.

A numbee of soldiers were standing in the road near
the bungalow of Brigadier-General Mathieson, the officer
in command of the force in the cantonments of Benares
and the surrounding district.

" They are coming now, I think/' one sergeant said to
another. " It is a bad business. They say the General
is terribly hurt, and it was thought better to bring him
and the other fellow who was mixed up in it down in
doolies. I heard Captain Harvey say in the orderly-room
that they have arranged relays of bearers every five miles
all the way down. He is a good fellow is the General,
and we should all miss him. He is not one of the sort
who has everything comfortable himself and don't care a
rap how the soldiers get on: he sees to the comfort of
everyone and spends his money freely, too. He don't
seem to care what he lays out in making the quarters of
the married men comfortable, and in getting any amount
of ice for the hospital, and extra punkawallahs in the bar-
rack rooms during the hot season. He goes out and sees
to everything himself. Why, on the march I have known
him, when all the doolies were full, give up his own horse
to a man who had fallen out. He has had bad luck too;
lost his wife years ago by cholera, and he has got no one
to care for but his girl. She was only a few months old
when her mother died. Of course she was sent off to
England, and has been there ever since. He must be a

.

* THE LOST HEIR.

lich man, besides his pay and allowances; but it aint every
rich man who spends his money as he does. There won't
be a dry eye in the cantonment if he goes under."
"How was it the other man got hurt? "
" Well, I hear that the tiger sprang on to the General's
elephant and seized him by the leg. They both went off
together, and the brute shifted its hold to the shoulder,
aiid carried him into the jungle; then the other fellow
slipped off his elephant and ran after the tiger. He got
badly mauled too; but he killed the brute and saved the
General's life."

|| By Jove! that was a plucky thing. Who was he? "
'Why, he was the chap who was walking backwards
and forwards with the General when the band was playing
yesterday evening. Several of the men remarked how
like he was to you, Sanderson. I noticed it, too. There
certainly was a strong likeness."

"Yes, some of the fellows were saying so," Sanderson
replied. He passed close to me, and I saw that he was
about my height and build, but of course I did not notice
the likeness; a man does not know his own face much
Anyhow, he only sees his full face, and doesn't know how
'hejooks sideways. He is a civilian, isn't he? "

"Yes, I believe so; I know that the General is putting
him up at his quarters. He has been here about a week.
1 think he is some man from England, traveling, I sup-
pose, to see the world. I heard the Adjutant speak of
him as Mr. Simcoe when he was talking about the affair."
" Of course they will take him to the General's bunga-
low? " &

"No; he is going to the next. Major Walker is away

°u i5v£ and the doctor says that {t is better that they
should be m different bungalows, because then if one gets
delirious and noisy he won't disturb the other. Dr.
Hunter is going to take up his quarters there to look after
him, with his own servants and a couple of hospital
orderlies." r

By this time several officers were gathered at the en-
trance to the General's bungalow, two mounted troopers

A BE AVE ACTION. 3

having brought in the news a few minutes before that the
doolies were within a mile.

They came along now, each carried by four men, main-
taining a swift but smooth and steady pace, and abstain-
ing from the monotonous chant usually kept up. A doc-
tor was riding by the side of the doolies, and two mounted
orderlies with baskets containing ice and surgical dress-
ings rode fifty paces in the rear. The curtains of the
doolies had been removed to allow of a free passage of
air, and mosquito curtains hung round to prevent insects
annoying the sufferers.

There was a low murmur of sympathy from the soldiers
as the doolies passed them, and many a muttered " God
bless you, sir, and bring you through it all right." Then,
as the injured men were carried into the two bungalows,
most of the soldiers strolled off, some, however, remain-
ing near in hopes of getting a favorable report from an
orderly or servant. A group of officers remained under
the shade of a tree near until the surgeon who had ridden
in with the doolies came out.

" What is the report, McManus ? " one of them asked,
as he approached.

" There is no change since I sent off my report last
night/' he said. " The General is very badly hurt; I cer-
tainly should not like to give an opinion at present
whether he will get over it or not. If he does it will be
a very narrow shave. He was insensible till we lifted him
into the doolie at eight o'clock yesterday evening, when
the motion seemed to rouse him a little, and he just
opened his eyes; and each time we changed bearers he has
had a little ice between his lips, and a drink of lime juice
and water with a dash of brandy in it. He has known
me each time, and whispered a word or two, asking after
the other."

"And how is he? "

" I have no doubt that he will do; that is, of course, if
fever does not set in badly. His wounds are not «o
severe as the General's, and be is a much younger man,
and, as T should say, with a good constitution. If there

4 THE LOST HEIR.

is no complication he ought to be about again in a month's
time. He is perfect!}' sensible. Let him lie quiet for a
day or two; after that it would be as well if some of you
who have met him at the General's would drop in occa-
sionally for a short chat with him; but of course we must
wait to see if there is going to be much fever."

" And did it happen as they say, doctor? The dis-
patch told us very little beyond the fact that the General
was thrown from his elephant, just as the tiger sprang,
and that it seized him and carried him into the jungle;
that Simcoe slipped off his pad and ran in and attacked
the tiger; that he saved the General's life and killed the
animal, but is sadly hurt himself."

" That is about it, except that he did not kill the tiger.
Metcalf , Colvin, and Smith all ran in, and firing together
knocked it over stone dead. It was an extraordinarily
plucky action of Simcoe, for he had emptied his rifle, and
had nothing but it and a knife when he ran in."

"You don't say so! By Jove! that was an extraordi-
nary act of pluck; one would almost say of madness, if he
hadn't succeeded in drawing the brute off Mathieson, and
so gaining time for the others to come up. It was a
miracle that he wasn't killed. Well, we shall not have
quite so easy a time of it for a bit. Of course Murdock,
as senior officer, will take command of the brigade, but
he won't be half as considerate for our comfort as Mathie-
son has been. He is rather a scoffer at what he calls new-
fangled ways, and he will be as likely to march the men
ouUn the heat of the day as at five in the morning."

The two sergeants who had been talking walked back
together to their quarters. Both of them were on the
brigade staff. Sanderson was the Paymaster's clerk,
Nichol worked in the orderly-room. At the sergeants'
mess the conversation naturally turned on the tiger hunt
and its consequences.

" I have been in some tough fights," one of the older
men said, " and I don't know that I ever felt badly scared
— one hasn't time to think of that when one is at work-
but to rush in against a wounded tiger with nothing but

A BRAVE ACTION. 5

an empty gun and a hunting-knife is not the sort of job
that I should like to tackle. It makes one's blood run
cold to think of it. I consider that everyone in the bri-
gade ought to subscribe a day's pay to get something to
give that man, as a token of our admiration for his pluck
and of our gratitude for his having saved General Mathie-
6on's life."

There was a general expression of approval at the idea.
Then Sanderson said:

" I think it is a thing that ought to be done, but it is
not for us to begin it. If we hear of anything of that sort
done by the officers, two or three of us might go up and
say that it was the general wish among the non-coms, and
men to take a share in it; but it would, never do for us to
begin."

" That is right enough; the officers certainly would not
like such a thing to begin from below. We had better
wait and see whether there is any movement that way.
I dare say that it will depend a great deal on whether the
General gets over it or not."

The opportunity did not come. At the end of five
weeks Mr. Simcoe was well enough to travel by easy stages
down to the coast, acting upon the advice that he should,
for the present, give up all idea of making a tour through
India, and had better take a sea voyage to Australia or the
Cape, or, better still, take his passage home at once. Had
the day and hour of his leaving been known, there was not
a white soldier in the cantonments who would not have
turned out to give him a hearty cheer, but although going
on well the doctor said that all excitement should be
avoided. It would be quite enough for him to have to say
good-by to the friends who had been in the habit of com-
ing in to talk with him daily, but anything like a public
greeting by the men would be likely to upset him. It was
not, therefore, until Simcoe was some way down the river
that his departure became known to the troops.

Six weeks later there was a sensation in the canton-
ments. General Mathieson had so far recovered that he
was able to be carried up to the hills, and the camp was

6 TEE LOST EEIB.

still growling at the irritating orders and regulations of
his temporary successor in command, when the news
spread that Staff Pay-Sergeant Sanderson had deserted.
He had obtained a fortnight's furlough, saying that he
wanted to pay a visit to some old comrades at Allahabad;
at the end of the fortnight he had not returned, and the
Staff Paymaster had gone strictly into his accounts and
found that there was a deficiency of over £300, which he
himself would of course be called upon to make good. He
had, indeed, helped to bring about the deficiency by plac-
ing entire confidence in the sergeant and by neglecting to
check his accounts regularly.

Letters were at once written to the heads of the police
at Calcutta and Bombay, and to all the principal places on
the roads to those ports; but it was felt that, with such a
start as he had got, the chances were all in his favor.

It was soon ascertained at Allahabad that he had not
been there. Inquiries at the various dak-bungalows satis-
fied the authorities that he had not traveled by land. If
he had gone down to Calcutta he had gone by boat; but he
might have started on the long land journey across to
Bombay, or have even made for Madras. No distinct
clew, however, could be obtained.

The Paymaster obtained leave and went down to Cal-
cutta and inspected all the lists of passengers and made
inquiries as to them; but there were then but few white
men in the country, save those holding civil or military
positions and the merchants at the large ports, therefore
there was not much difficulty in ascertaining the identity
of everyone who had left Calcutta during the past month,
unless, indeed, he had taken a passage in some native craft
to Rangoon or possibly Singapore.

On his arrival at Calcutta he heard of an event which
caused deep and general regret when known at Benares,
and for a time threw even the desertion of Sergeant San-
derson into the shade. The Nepaul, in which John Sim-
coe had sailed, had been lost in a typhoon in the Bay of
Bengal when but six days out. There was no possible
doubt as to his fate, for a vessel half a mile distant had

A BE AVE ACTION. 7

seen her founder, but could render no assistance, being
herself dismasted and unmanageable and the sea so tre-
mendous that no -boat could have lived in it for a moment.
As both ships belonged to the East India Company, and
were well known to each other, the captain and officials of
the Ceylon had no doubt whatever as to her identity, and,
indeed, the remains of a boat bearing the Nepaul's name
were picked up a few days later near the spot where she
had gone down.

" It's hard luck, that is what I call it," Sergeant Nichol
said with great emphasis when the matter was talked over
in the sergeants' mess. " Here is a man who faces a
wounded tiger with nothing but a hunting-knife, and re-
covers from his wounds; here is the General, whose life
he saved, going on first-rate, and yet he loses his life him-
self, drowned at sea. I call that about as hard luck as
anything I have heard of."

"Hard luck indeed! " another said. "If he had died
of his wounds it would have been only what might have
been expected; but to get over them and then to get
drowned almost as soon as he had started is, as you say,
Nichol, very hard luck. I am sure the General will be
terribly cut up about it. I heard Major Butler tell Cap-
tain Thompson that he had heard from Dr. Hunter that
when the General began to get round and heard that Sim-
coe had gone, while he was lying there too ill to know any-
thing about it, he regularly broke down and cried like a
child; and I am sure the fact that he will never have the
chance of thanking him now will hurt him as bad as those
tiger's claws."

" And so there is no news of Sanderson? "

" Not that I have heard. Maybe he has got clean away;
but I should say it's more likely that he is lying low in
some sailors' haunt until the matter blows over. Then,
like enough, he will put on sea-togs and ship under an-
other name before the mast in some trader knocking
about among the islands, and by the time she comes back
he could take a passage home without questions being
asked. He is a sharp fellow is Sanderson, i never quite

8 THE LOST HEIR.

liked him myself, but I never thought he was a rogue. It
will teach Captain Smalley to be more careful in future.
I heard that he was going home on his long leave in the
spring, but I suppose he will not be able to do so now for
a year or so; three hundred pounds is a big sum to have to
fork out."

The news of the loss of the Nepaul, with all hands, did
indeed hit General Mathieson very heavily, and for a time
seriously delayed the progress that he was making towards
recovery.

" It's" bad enough to think," he said, " that I shall never
have an opportunity of thanking that gallant fellow for
my life; but it is even worse to know that my rescue has
brought about his death, for had it not been for that he
would have bv this time been up at Delhi or in Oude in-
stead of lying* at the bottom of the sea. I would give half
my fortune to grasp his hand again arid tell him what I
feel."

General Mathieson's ill luck stuck to him. He gained
strength so slowly that he was ordered home, and it was
three years before he rejoined. Four years later his
daughter came out to him, and for a time his home in
Delhi, where he was now stationed, was a happy one.
The girl showed no desire to marry, and refused several
very favorable offers; but after she had been out four
years she married a rising young civilian who was also
stationed at Delhi. The union was a happy one, except
that the first two children born to them died in infancy.
They were girls. The third was a boy, who at the age of
eight months was sent home under the charge of an offi-
cer's wife returning with her children to England. When
they arrived there he was placed in charge of Mrs. Coving-
ton, a niece of the General's. But before he reached the
shores of England he was an orphan. An epidemic of
cholera broke 'out at the station at which his father, who
was now a deputy collector, was living, and he and his
wife were among the first victims of the scourge.

General Mathieson was now a major-general, and in
ojMnmand of the troops in the Calcutta district. This

A BRAVE ACTION. 9

blow decided him to resign his command and return to
England. He was now sixty; the climate of India had
suited him, and he was still a hale, active man. Being
generally popular he was soon at home in London, where
he took a house in Hyde Park Gardens and became a regu-
lar frequenter of the Oriental and East Indian United
Service Clubs, of which he had been for years a member,
went a good deal into society, and when at home took a
lively interest in his grandson, often running down to his
niece's place, near Warwick, to see how he was getting on.

The ayah who had come with the child from India had
been sent back a few months after they arrived, for his
mother had written to Mrs. Covington requesting that he
should have a white nurse. " The native servants," she
wrote, " spoil the children dreadfully, and let them have
entirely their own way, and the consequence is that they
grow up domineering, bad-tempered, and irritable. I
have seen so many cases of it here that Herbert and I have
quite decided that our child shall not be spoilt in this way,
but shall be brought up in England as English children
are, to obey their nurses and to do as they are ordered."

As Mrs. Covington's was a large country house the child
was no trouble; an excellent nurse was obtained, and the
boy throve under her care.

The General now much regretted having remained so
many years in India, and if an old comrade remarked, " I
never could make out why you stuck to it so long, Mathie-
80*v ;t was ridiculous for a man with a large private for-
tune such as you have," he would reply, " I can only sup-
pose it was because I was an old fool. But, you see, I had
no particular reason for coming home. I lost my only
sisrer three years after I went out, and had never seen her
only daughter, my niece Mary Covington. Of course I
hoped for another bout of active service, and when the
chance came at last up in the north, there was I stuck
down in Calcutta. If it hadn't been for Jane I should
certainly have given it up in disgust when I found I was
practically shelved. But she always used to come down
and stay with me for a month or two in the cool season,

10 THE LOST HEIR.

and as she was the only person in the world I cared for, I
held on from year to year, grumbling of course, as pretty
well every Anglo-Indian does, but without having suffi-
cient resolution to throw it up. I ought to have stayed
at home for good after that mauling I got from the tiger;
but, you see, I was never really myself while I was at
home. I did not feel up to going to clubs, and could not
enter into London life at all, but spent most of my time
at my own place, which was within a drive of Mary Cov-
ington's, who had then just married.

Well, you see, I got deucedly tired of life down there.
I knew nothing whatever of farming, and though I tried
to get up an interest in it I failed altogether. Of course
there was a certain amount of society of a sort, and every-
one called, and one had to go out to dinner-parties. But
such dinner-parties! Why, a dinner in India was worth a
score of them. Most of them were very stiff and formal,
and after the women had gone upstairs, the men talked of
nothing but hunting and shooting and crops and cattle;
so at last I could stand it no longer, but threw up six
months of my furlough and went out again. Yes, of
course I had Jane, but at that time she was but fourteen,
and was a girl at school; and when I talked of bringing
her home and having a governess, everyone seemed to
think that it would be the worst' thing possible for her,
and no doubt they were right, for the life would have been
as dull for her as it was for me.

" Of course now it is different. I feel as young and aa
well as I did twenty years ago, and can thoroughly enjoy
my life in London, though I still fight very shy of the
country. It is a satisfaction to me to know that thing8
are pretty quiet in India at present, so that I am losing
nothing that way, and if I were out there I should be only
holding inspections at Barrakpoor, Dumdum, or on the
Maidan at Calcutta. Of course it was pleasant enough
in its way, for I never felt the heat; but as a man gets on
in life he doesn't have quite so much enjoyment out of it
as- he used to do. The men around him are a good deal
younger than himself. He knows all the old messroom

A BRAVE ACTION. 11

jokes, and one bit of scandal is like scores of others he
has heard in his time.

" I am heartily glad that I have come home. Many of
you here are about my own standing, and there is plenty
to talk about of old friends and old days. You were a
young ensign when I was a captain, but Bulstrode and I
got our companies within a few days of each other. Of
course he is only a lieutenant-colonel, while I am a major-
general, but that is because he had the good sense to quit
the service years ago. There are scores of others in the
club just about my own standing, and one gets one's rub-
ber of' whist in the afternoon, and we dine together and
run down the cooking and wines, although every one of
us knows at heart that they are both infinitely better than
we got in India, except at the clubs in the Presidency
towns.

" Then, of course, we all agree that the service is going
to the dogs, that the Sepoys are over-indulged and will
some day give us a lot of trouble. I keep my liver all
right by taking a long ride every morning, and altogether
I think I can say that I thoroughly enjoy myself."

The General, on his first visit to England, had endeav-
ored, but in vain, to find out the family of John Simcoe.
He had advertised largely, but without effect.

" I want to Hnd them out," he said to his niece; " I owe
that man a debt of gratitude I can never repay, but doubt-
less there are some of his family who may be in circum-
stances where I could give them a helping hand. There
may be young brothers — of course 1 could get them cadet-
ships in the Indian army — maybe portionless sisters."

" But if he was traveling in India for pleasure he must '
have been a well-to-do young fellow. Men cannot wan-
der about in the East without having a pretty full
purse."

" Yes, no doubt; but I don't fancy it was so in his case,
and he said casually that he had come in for some money,
and, as he had always had a great desire to travel, he
thought that he could do nothing better than spend a
year or two in the East, but that he hoped before it was

12 TEE LOST EEIR.

gone he should fall on his legs and obtain some sort of
employment. He did not care much what it was, so that
it was not quill-driving. He thought that he could turn
his hands to most things. I laughed at the time, for I
was by no means sure that he was in earnest, but I have
felt since that he must have been. If it had not been so,
my advertisements would surely have caught the eye
of someone who knew his family. A family wealthy
enough for one of the sons to start on two years' travel
must be in a fair position, whether in town or country.
Had it been so I should have heard of it, and therefore I
think that what he said must have had some foundation
in fact. He was certainly a gentleman in manner, and my
idea now is that he belonged to a middle-class family,
probably in some provincial town, and that, having come
into some money at the death of his father or some other
relative, he followed his natural bent and started on a
sort of roving expedition, thinking, as many people do
think, that India is a land where you have only to stretch
out your hands and shake the pagoda tree.

" He would have found out his mistake, poor fellow,
if he had lived. The days are long past when any dash-
ing young adventurer can obtain a post of honor in the
pay of an Indian Rajah. Still, of course, after what he
did for me, had he remained in India, and I found that
he really wanted a berth, I might have done something
for him. I know numbers of these Indian princes, some
of them intimately, and to some I have been of very con-
siderable service; and I fancy that I might have got him a
berth of some kind or other without much difficulty. Or
had he made up his mind to return to England' I would
have set him up in any business he had a fancy for. He
has gone now, and I wish I could pay someone he cared
for a little of the debt of gratitude I owe him. Well, I
have done my best and have failed, from no fault of my
own; but remember that if ever you hear of a family of
the name of Simcoe, I want you to make inquiries
about them, and to give me full particulars concerning
them."

A BRAVE ACTION. 13

But no news ever reached the General on this head, and!
it was a frequent cause of lamentation to him, when he
finally settled in town, that although he had again adver-
tised he had heard nothing whatever of the family of
which he was in search.

CHAPTEE II.

IN THE SOUTH SEAS.

An island in the Pacific. The sun was shining down
from a cloudless sky, the sea was breaking on the white
beach, there was just sufficient breeze to move the leaves
of the cocoanut trees that formed a dark band behind the
eands. A small brig of about a hundred tons' burden lay
anchored a short distance from the shore. The paint was
off in many places, and everywhere blistered by the sun.
Her sails hung loosely in the gaskets, and the slackness of
her ropes and her general air of untidiness alike showed
the absence of any sort of discipline on board.

In front of a rough shanty, built just within the line of
shade of the cocoanuts, sat three men. Two drunken
sailors lay asleep some fifty yards away. On the stump of
a tree in front of the bench on which the three men were
sitting were placed several black bottles and three tin
pannikins, while two gourds filled with water and covered
with broad banana leaves stood erect in holes dug in the
sand.

" I tell you what it is, Atkins, your men are carrying it
on too far. Bill here, and I, were good friends with the
natives; the chief gave us wives, and we got on well enough
with them. What with the cocoanuts, which are free to
us all, and the patches of ground to cultivate, we had all
we wanted, and with the store of beads and bright cotton
we brought here with us we paid the natives to fish for
pearls for us, and have collected enough copra to trade for
rum and whatever else we want. You have got all our
copra on board, and a good stock of native trumperies, and
I should recommend you to be off, both for your own sake
and ours. Your men have been more or less drunk ever
since thev came here. I don't mind a drinking bout my-

14

IN THE SOUTH SEAS. 15

self now and again, but it does not do to keep it up.
However, it would be no odds to us whether your men
were drunk all the time or not if they would but get
drunk on board, but they will bring the liquor on shore,
and then they get quarrelsome, use their fists on the
natives, and meddle with the women. Now, these fellows
are quiet and gentle enough if they are left alone and
treated fairly, but I don't blame them for getting riled up
when they are ill-treated, and I tell you they are riled up
pretty badly now. My woman has spoken to me more
than once, and from what she says there is likely to be
trouble, not only for you but for us."

"Well, Sim," the man that he was addressing said,
" there is reason enough in what you say. I don't care
myself a snap for these black fellows; a couple of musket-
shots would send them all flying. But, you see, though
I am skipper, the men all have shares and do pretty much
as they like. At present they like to stay here, and I
suppose they will stay here till they are tired of it."

" Well, Atkins, if I were in your place I should very
soon make a change, and if you like, Bill and I will help
you. You have got six men; well, if you shot three of
them the other three would think better of it; and if they
didn't I would settle them too."

" It is all very well talking like that, Sim. How could
I sail the brig without hands? If I only kept three of
them I should be very short-handed, and if I ever did
manage to get to port they would lay a complaint against
me for shooting the others. It is all very well for you to
talk; you have lived here long enough to know that one
can only get the very worst class of fellows to sail with
one in craft like this and for this sort of trade. It pays
well if one gets back safely, but what with the risk of
being cast ashore or being killed by the natives, who are
savage enough in some of the islands, it stands to reason
that a man who can get a berth in any other sort of craft
won't sail with us. But it is just the sort of life to suit
chaps like these; it means easy work, plenty of loafing
about, and if things turn out well a good lump of money

16 THE LOST HEIR.

at the end of the voyage. However, the}' ought to have
had enough of it this job; the rum is nearly gone, and if
you will come off to-morrow I will let you have what re-
mains, though if they are sober I doubt if they will let
you take it away."

" We will risk that," the third man said. "We are not
nice about using our pistols, if you are. I was saying to
Simcoe here, things are going a lot too far. Enough mis-
chief has been done already, and I am by no means sure
that when you have gone they won't make it hot for us.
Wc are very comfortf^o here, and we are not doing badly,
and I don't care about being turned out of it."

" The pearl fishing is turning out well? " Atkins asked
quietly.

" It might be worse and it might be better. Anyhow,
we are content to remain here for a bit.

" I don't like it, Jack," he said, as the skipper, having
in vain tried to rouse the two drunken men, rowed himself
off to the brig. " My woman told me this morning that
there had been a big talk among the natives, and that
though they did not tell her anything, she thought that
they had made up their minds to wipe the whites out
altogether. They said that if we hadn't been here, the
brig would not have come; which is like enough, for
Atkins only put in because he was an old chum of ours,
and thought that we should have got copra enough to
make it worth his while to come round. Well, if the nig-
gers only wiped out the crew, and burned the ship, I
should say nothing against it, as long as they let Atkins
alone. He has stood by me in more than one rough-and-
tumble business, and I am bound to stand by him. But
there aint no discrimination among the niggers. Besides,
I am not saying but that he has been pretty rough with
them himself.

" It makes all the difference whether you settle down
and go in for making a pile, or if you only stop to water
and take in fruit; we agreed as to that when we landed
here. When we stopped here before and found them
friendly and pleasant, and we sa3rs to each other, ' If we

IN TEE SOUTE SEAL 17

can but get on smooth with them and set them fishing for
us we might make a good thing out of it.' You see, we
had bought some oysters one of them brought up after a
dive, and had found two or three pearls in them.

" Well, we have been here nine months, and I don't say
I am not getting tired of it; but it is worth stopping for.
You know we reckoned last week that the pearls we have
got ought to be worth two or three thousand pounds, and
we agreed that we would stay here till we have two bags
the size of the one we have got; but unless Atkins gets
those fellows off, I doubt if we shan't have to go before
that. There is no reasoning with these niggers; if they
had any sense they would see that we can't help these
things."

" Perhaps what the women tell us is untrue," the other
suggested.

"Don't you think that," Simcoe said; "these black
women are always true to their white men when they are
decently treated. Besides, none of the natives have been
near us to-day. That, of course, might be because they
are afraid of these chaps; but from this shanty we can see
the canoes, and not one has gone out to-day. Who is to
blame them, when one of their chiefs was shot yesterday
without a shadow of excuse? I don't say that I think so
much of a nigger's life one way or another; and having
been in some stiff fights together, as you know, I have
always taken my share. But I am dead against shooting
without some reason; it spoils trade, and makes it unsafe
even to land for water. I have half a mind. Bill, to go
on board and ask Atkins to take us away with him; we
could mighty soon settle matters with the crew, and if
there was a fight and we had to shoot them all, we could
take the brig into port well enough."

"No, no," said Bill, "it has not come to that yet.
Don't let us give up a good thing until we. are sure that
the game is up."

"Well, just as you like; I am ready to run the risk if
you are. It would be hard, if the worst came to the worst,
if we couldn't fight our way down to our canoe, and once

18 THE LOST HEIR.

on board that we could laugh at them; for as we have
proved over and over again, they have not one that can
touch her."

" Well, I will be off to my hut; the sun is just setting
and my supper will be ready for me." He strolled off to
ins shanty, which lay back some distance in the wood
feimcoe entered the hut, where a native woman was
cooking.

"N0thing freSh, I suppose? " he asked in her language.

bke shook her head. " None of our people have been
near us to-day."

" Well, Polly,"— for so her white master had christened
her, her native appellation being too long for ordinary
conversation,— "it is a bad business, and I am sorry for it-
but when these fellows have sailed away it will soon come
all right again."

" V?1}? hoPes so," she said. " Polly very much afraid."
Well, you had better go to-morrow and see them, and.
tell them, as I have told them already, we are very sorry
for the goings on of these people, but it is not our fault
1 ou have no fear that they will hurt you, have you? Be-
cause if so, don't you go."

.. " They no hurt Poll3r now>" she said; "they know that
it I do not come back you be on guard."
_ " Well, I don't think there is any danger at present, but
it is as well to be ready. Do you take down to the canoe
three or four dozen cocoanuts and four or five big bunches
of plantains, and you may as well take three or four gourds
of water. If we have to take to the boat, will you go with
me or stay here?"

" Polly will go with her master," the woman said; " if
she stay here they will kill her."

" I am glad enough for you to go with me, Polly," he
said. You have been a good little woman, and I don't
know how I should get on without you now; though why
they should kill you I don't know, seeing that your head
chief gave you to me himself."

['■Kill everything belonging to white man," she said
quietly; and the man knew m his heart that it would prob-

IN TEE SOUTH SEAS. 19

ably be so. She put his supper on the table and then
made several journeys backwards and forwards to the
canoe, which lay afloat in a little cove a couple of hundred
yards away. When she had done she stood at the table
and ate the remains of the supper.

An hour later the man was sitting on the bench outside
smoking his pipe, when he heard the sound of heavy foot-
steps among the trees. He knew this was no native tread.
" What is it, Bill? " he asked, as the man came up.
" Well, I came to tell you that there is a big row going
on among the natives. I can hear their tom-tom things
beating furiously, and occasionally they set up a tremen-
dous yell. I tell you I don't like it, Simcoe; I don't like
it a bit. I sent my woman to see what it was all about,
but though she had been away three hours, she hadn't
come back when I started out to talk it over with
you."

" There has been a biggish row going on on board the
brig too," the other said. " I have heard Atkins storm-
ing, and a good deal of shouting among the men. I sup-
pose you have got your pearls all right in your belt?
Things begin to have an awkward look, and we may have
to bolt at short notice."

" You trust me for that, Simcoe; I have had them on
me ever since the brig came in. I had no fear of the
natives stealing them out of my hut, but if one of those
fellows were to drop in and see them he would think noth-
nig of knifing the woman and carrying them off."
" I see you have brought your gun with you."
" Yes, and my pistols too. I suppose you are loaded,
and ready to catch up at a moment's notice? "

"Yes; my girl has been canying down cocoanuts and
plantains to the canoe, so, if we have to make a bolt, we
can hold on comfortably enough until we get to the next
island, which is not above three days' sail, and lies dead to
leeward, as the wind is at present. Still, Bill, I hope it is
not coming to that. I think it is likely enough they may
attack the brig in their canoes, but they have always been
bo friendly with us that I really don't think they can turn

20 THE LOST HEIE.

against us now; they must know that we cannot help these
people's doings."

" That is all very well," the other said, " but you and
I know half a dozen cases in which the niggers have at-
tacked a ship, and in every case beachcombers were killed
too."

Simcoe made no answer; he knew that it was so, and
could hardly hope that there would be an exception in
their case. After thinking for a minute he said, " Well,
Bill, in that case I think the safest plan will be to take to
the canoe at once. We can stay away a few weeks and
then come back here and see how matters stand."

" But how about Atkins? "

" Well, we will shout and get him ashore and tell him
what we think of it, and give him the choice of either stop-
ping or going with us. Nothing can be fairer than that.
If he chooses to stop and harm comes of it we cannot
blame ourselves. If we come back in a few weeks of
course we should not land until we had overhauled one of
their canoes and found out what the feeling of the people
was. They will have got over their fit of rage, and like
enough they will have said to each other, ' We were better
off when the two white men were here. They paid us for
our fishing and our copra, and never did us any harm. I
wish they were back again.' "

" That is reasonable enough," the other agreed.
"What about the trade things?"

" Well, we have only got some beads and small knick-
knacks left. Polly shall carry them down to the canoe;
we shall want them for trading till we come back here
again."

He said a few words to the woman, who at once began
to carry the things down to the canoe. Then he went
down to the beach and shouted, " Atkins! "

" Hullo! " came back from the brig.

" Come ashore; we want to talk to you about something
particular." They saw the dinghy pulled up to the ship's
side, then Atkins rowed ashore.

" I have been having a row with the crew," he said. " I

m THE SOUTH SEAS. 21

thought it was coming to fighting. Two or three of them
took up handspikes, but I drew my pistols and things
calmed down. What do you want me for? "

" Bill here has brought news that there is a row among
the natives. They are beating their drums and yelling
like fiends, and we expect it means mischief. At any rate
it comes to this: we are so convinced that there is going
to be trouble that we mean to cut and run at once. We
have got enough grub put on board our canoe to take us
to the next island, but we did not want to leave you in the
lurch, to be speared by the niggers, so we have called you
to offer you a seat in the canoe."

" That is friendly," Atkins said, " but I should lose the
ship and cargo; and pretty near all that I have got is in
her. Why should not you two bring your canoe off along-
side and hoist her up? Then we could get up anchor and
be off. Three of the fellows are dead-drunk and the
other three half stupid. I would give you each a share in
the profits of the vo}rage."

"Well, what do you think of that, Simcoe?" Bill said.

" I tell you straight I don't care* for it. You and I are
both good paddlers, and the canoe sails like a witch in a
light wind. Once afloat in her and we are safe, but you
can't say as much for the brig. I have sailed in her be-
fore now, and I know that she is slow, unless it is blowing
half a gale. It is like enough that the natives may be
watching her now, and if they saw us get under way they
would be after her, and would go six feet to her one. As
to fighting, what could we three do? The others would
be of no use whatever. No, I like our plan best by far."

" Well, I don't know what to sa3r," Atkins said. " It is
hard to make a choice. Of course if I were sure that the
natives really meant mischief I would go with you, but we
cannot be sure of that."

" I feel pretty sure of it anyhow," Bill said. " My girl
would be safe to follow me here when she got back and
found the hut empty, but I am mightily afraid that some
harm has come to her, or she would have been back long
before this. It wasn't half a mile to go, and she might

22 TEE LOST HEIR.

have been there and back in half an hour, and she has
been gone now over three hours, and I feel nasty about it,
I can tell you. I wish your crew were all sober, Atkins,
and that we had a score of men that I could put my hand
on among the islands. I should not be talking about tak-
ing to a canoe then, but I would just go in and give it
them so hot that they would never try their pranks on
again."

" Have you got all the things in, Polly? " Simcoe asked
the woman, as she crouched down by the door of the hut.

" Got all in," she said. " Why not go? Very bad wait
here."

" Well, I think you are about right. At any rate, we
will go and get on board and wait a spear's-throw off the
shore for an hour or so. If Bill's Susan comes here and
finds we have gone she is pretty safe to guess that we shall
be on board the canoe and waiting for her. What do you
gay to that, Bill?"

" That suits me; nothing can be fairer. If she comes
we can take her on board, if she doesn't I shall know that
they have killed her, and I will jot it down against them
and come back here some day before long and take it out
of them. And you, Atkins ? "

" I will go straight on board. Like enough it is all a
false alarm, and I aint going to lose the brig and all that
she has got on board till I am downright certain that
they "

He stopped suddenly, and the others leaped to their
feet as a burst of savage yells broke out across the water.

"By Heavens, they are attacking the ship!" Simcoe
cried; " they will be here in a moment. Come on, Polly!
come on, Atkins! we have no choice now." Taking up his
arms, he started to run. " Quick, quick!" he cried; "I
can hear them."

They had gone but some thirty yards when a number of
natives burst from the wood. Had they arrived a minute
sooner at the hut none of its occupants would have lived
to tell the tale, but the impatience of those in the canoes
lying round the brig had caused the alarm to be given be-

IN THE SOUTH SEAS. 23

fore they had placed themselves in readiness for a simul-
taneous rush on the hut. There was no further occasion
for silence; a wild yell burst out as they caught sight of
the flying figures, and a dozen spears flew through the air.
" Don't stop to fire! " Simcoe shouted; "we shall have
to make a stand at the boat and shall want every barrel."
They were three-quarters of the way to the boat and
the natives were still some twenty yards behind them.
Suddenly Bill stumbled; then with a savage oath he
turned and emptied both barrels of his fowling-piece into
the natives, and the two leading men fell forward on their
faces, and some shouts and yells told that some of the
shots had taken effect on those behind.
" Are you wounded, Bill? " Simcoe asked.
" Yes, I am hit hard. Run on, man; I think I am done
for."

"Nonsense!" Simcoe exclaimed. "Catch hold of my
arm; I will help you along."

One native was in advance of the rest. He raised his
arm to hurl his spear, but the native woman, who had all
along been running behind Simcoe, threw herself forward,
and the spear pierced her through the body. With an ex-
clamation of fury Simcoe leveled his musket and shot the
native through the head.

" Throw your arms round my neck, Bill; the poor girl
is done for, curse them. Can you hold on? "
"Yes, I think so," he replied.

Simcoe was a very powerful man, and with his comrade
on his back he ran on almost as swiftly as before.

"Now, Atkins, give them every barrel that you have
got, then lift Bill into the boat, and I will keep them back.
I am not going until I have paid some of them out for
poor Polly."

Atkins fired his pistols, and with so steady an aim that
each shot brought down a savage; then he lifted Bill from
Simcoe's shoulders and laid him in the canoe.

" Get up the sail! " Simcoe shouted. " They will riddle
us with spears if we paddle." He shot down four of the
natives with his double-barreled pistols, and then club*

24 TEE LOST HEIR.

bing his gun threw himself with a hoarse shout upoa
them. The loss of seven of their leaders had caused their
followers to hesitate, and the fury of Simcoe's attack and
the tremendous blows he dealt completed their discom-
fiture, and they turned and fled in dismay.

" Now is your time! " Atkins shouted; " I have cut the
cord and got the sail up." Turning, Simcoe was in a mo-
ment knee-deep in the water; pushing the boat off, he
threw himself into it.

" Lie down, man, lie down! " he shouted to Atkins.
But the warning was too late; the moment Simcoe turned
the natives had turned also, and as they reached the
water's edge half a dozen spears were flung. Two of
them struck Atkins full in the body, and with a cry he
threw up his arms and fell over the side of the canoe.
Then came several splashes in the water. Simcoe drew
the pistols from his companion's belt, and, raising himself
high enough to look over the stern, shot two of the
savages who were wading out waist deep, and were but a
few paces behind.

The sail was now doing its work, and the boat was be-
ginning to glide through the water at a rate that even the
best swimmers could not hope to emulate. As soon as he
was out of reach of the spears Simcoe threw the boat up
into the wind, reloaded his pistols and those of his com-
rade, and opened fire upon the group of natives clustered
at the water's edge. Like most men of his class, he was a
first-rate shot. Three of the natives fell and the rest fled.
Then with a stroke of the paddle he put the boat before
the wind again, and soon left the island far behind.

" This has been a pretty night's work," he muttered.
" Poor little Polly killed! She gave her life to save me,
and there is no doubt she did save me too, for that fel-
low's spear must have gone right through me. I am
afraid that they have done for Bill too." He stooped over
his comrade. The shaft of the spear had broken off, but
the jagged piece with the head attached stuck out just
over the hip. " I am afraid it is all up with him; how-
ever, I must take it out and bandage him as well as J ean."

IN THE SOUTH SEAS. 25

A groan burst from the wounded man as Simooe with
eome effort drew the jagged spear from the wound- Then
he took off his own shirt and tore some strips off it and
tightly bandaged the wound.

>k I can do nothing else until the morning," he said.
" Well, Polly, I have paid them out for you. I have shot
seven or eight and smashed the skulls of as many more.
Of course they have done for those drunkards on board
the brig. I did not hear a single pistol fired, and I expect
that they knocked them on the head in their drunken
sleep. The brutes! if they had had their senses about
them we might have made a fair fight; though I expect
that they would have been too many for us."

Just as daylight was breaking Bill opened Ms eyes.

" How do you feel, old man ? "

" I am going, Simcoe. You stood by me like a man; I
heard it all till Atkins laid me in the boat. Where is
he?"

" He is gone, Bill. Instead of throwing himself down
in the boat, as I shouted to him directly he got up the
sail, he stood there watching, I suppose, until I was in.
He got two spears in his body and fell overboard dead, I
have no doubt."

" Look here, Sim! " The latter had to bend down his
ear to listen. The words came faintly and slowly. " If
you ever go back home again, you look up my brother.
He is no more on the square than I was, but he is a
clever fellow. He lives respectable — Eose Cottage, Pen-
tonville Hill. Don't forget it. He goes by the name of
Harrison. I wrote to him every two or three years, and
got an answer about the same. Tell him -how his brother
Bill died, and how you carried him off when the blacks
were yelling round. We were fond of each other, Tom and
I. You keep the pearls, Sim; he don't want them. He
is a top-sawyer in his way, he is, and has offered again
and again that if I would come home he would set me up
in any line I liked. I thought perhaps I should go home
some day. Tom and I were great friends. I remem-
ber " His eyelids drooped, his lips moved., and in

26 TEE LOST HEIR.

another minute no sounds came from them. He gave one
deep sigh, and then all was over.

" A good partner and a good chum," Simcoe muttered
as he looked down into the man's face. " Well, well, I
have lost a good many chums in the last ten years, but
not one I missed as I shall miss Bill. It is hard, he and
Polly going at the same time. There are not many fel-
lows that I would have lain down to sleep with, with
fifteen hundred pounds' or so worth of pearls in my belt,
not out in these islands. But I never had any fear with
him. Well, well," he went on, as he took the bag of
pearls from his comrade's belt and placed it in his own,
" There is a consolation everywhere, though we might
have doubled and trebled this lot if we had stopped three
months longer, which we should have done if Atkins had
not brought that brig of his in. I can't think why he did
it. He might have been sure that with that drunken lot
of villains trouble would come of it sooner or later. He
wasn't a had fellow either, but too fond of liquor."

CHAPTER III.

A DEAF GIRL.

" Yes, Lady Moulton, I will undertake the gypsy tent
business at your fete; that is to say, I will see to the get-
ting up of the tent, provide a gypsy for you, and someone
to stand at the door and let in one visitor at a time and
receive the money. Do you mean to make it a fixed
charge, or leave it to each to pay the gypsy?"

"Which do you think will be best, Hilda? Of course
the great thing is to get as much money for the decayed
ladies as possible/'

" I should say that it would be best to let them give
what they like to the gypsy, Lady Moulton."

" But she might keep some of it herself."

" I think I can guarantee that she won't do that; I will
get a dependable gypsy. You see, you could not charge
above a shilling entrance, and very likely she would get
a good deal more than that given to her."

" Well, my dear, I leave it all to you. Spare no expense
about the tent and its fitting up. I have set my heart
upon the affair being a success, and I think everything
else has been most satisfactorily arranged. It is a very
happy thought of yours about the gypsy; I hope that you
will find a clever one. But you must mind and impress
upon her that we don't want any evil predictions. Noth-
ing could be in worse taste. It is all very well when a girl
is promised a rich husband and everything to match, but
if she were told that she would never get married, or
would die young, or something of that sort, it would be a
most unpleasant business."

" I quite agree with you, and will see that everything

37

28 THE LOST HEIR.

shall be ' couleur de rose ' as to the future, and that she
shall confine herself as much as possible to the past and
present."

" I leave it in your hands, and I am sure that it will be
done nicely."

Lady Moulton was a leading member of society, a
charming woman with a rich and indulgent husband.
Her home was a pleasant one, and her balls were among
the most popular of the season. She had, as her friends
said, but one failing, namely, her ardor for " The Society
for Affording Aid to Decayed Ladies." It was on behalf
of this institution that she was now organizing a fete in
the grounds of her residence at Eichmond. Hilda Cov-
ington was an orphan and an heiress, and was the ward of
her uncle, an old Indian officer, who had been a great
friend of Lady Moulton's father. She had been ushered
into society under her ladyship's auspices. She had, how-
ever, rather forfeited that lady's favorable opinion by re-
fusing two or three unexceptionable offers.

" My dear," she remonstrated, " no girl can afford to
throw away such chances, even if she is, as you are, well
endowed, pretty, and clever."

The girl laughed.

" I am not aware that I am clever at all, Lady Moulton.
I speak German and French perfectly, because I have been
four or five years in Hanover; but beyond that I am not
aware of possessing any special accomplishments."

" But you are clever, my dear," the other said decidedly.
"The way you seem to understand people's characters
astonishes me. Sometimes it seems to me that you are
almost a witch."

" You are arguing against yourself," the girl laughed.
" If I am such a good judge of character I am not likely
to make a mistake in such an important matter as choos-
ing a husband for myself."

Lady Moulton was silenced, but not convinced; how-
ever, she had good sense enough to drop the subject.
General Mathieson had already told her that although he
should not interfere in any way with any choice Hilda

A DEAF GIRL. 29

might make, ue should make it an absolute condition that
she should not marry until she came of age; and as she
was at present but eighteen, many things might occur in
the three years' interval.

On h<er return home, after arranging to provide a gypsy
for Lady Moulton's fete, Hilda related what had occurred
to a girl friend who was staying with her.

" Of course, Netta, I mean to be the gypsy myself; but
you must help me. It would never do foT me to be sus-
pected of being the sorceress, and so you must be my
double, so that I can, from time to time, go out and mix
with the crowd. A few minutes at a time will do."

The other laughed. " But what should I say to them,
Hilda?"

" Oh, it is as easy as A B C. All that you will have to
do is to speak ambiguously, hint at coming changes, fore-
see a few troubles in the way, and prophesy a happy solu-
tion of the difficulties. I will take upon myself the busi-
ness of surprising them, and I fancy that I shall be able
to astonish a few of them so much that even if some do
get only commonplaces we shall make a general sensation.
Of course, we must get two disguises. I shall have a
small tent behind the other where I can change. It won't
take a moment — a skirt, and a shawl to go over my head
and partly hide my face, can be slipped on and off in an
instant. Of course I shall have a black wig and some sort
of yellow wash that can be taken off with a damp towel.
I shall place the tent so that I can leave from behind with-
out being noticed. As we shall have the tent a good deal
darkened there will be no fear of the differences between
the two gypsies being discovered, and, indeed, people are
not likely to compare notes very closely/*

" Well, I suppose you will have your way as usual,
Hilda."

"I like that!" the other said, with a laugh. "You
were my guide and counselor for five years, and now you
pretend that I always have my own way. Why, I cannot
even get my own way in persuading you to come and settle
over here. I am quite sure that you would get lots of

80 THE LOST HEIR.

pupils, when people understand the system and its ad-
vantages."

" That is all very well, Hilda, but, you see, in the first
place I have no friends here except yourself, and in the
second it requires a good deal of money to get up an
establishment and to wait until one gets pupils. My aunt
would, I know, put in the money she saved when you were
with us if I were to ask her, but I wouldn't do so. To be-
gin withj she regards that as my fortune at her death.
She has said over and over again how happy the knowl-
edge makes her that I shall not be left absolutely penni-
less, except, of course, what I can get for the house and
furniture, and I would do anything rather than sell that.
She admits that I might keep myself by teaching deaf
children, but, as she says, no one can answer for their
health. I might have a long illness that would throw me
out. I might suddenly lose a situation, say, from the
death of a pupil, and might be a long time before I could
hear of another. She said to me once, ' I do hope, Netta,
you will never embark one penny of the little money that
will come to you in any sort of enterprise or speculation,
however promising it may look.' We had been talking of
exactly the plan that you are now speaking of. ' The
mere furnishing of a house in England large enough to
take a dozen children would swallow up a considerable
sum. At first you might have to wait some time till you
could obtain more than two or three children, and there
would be the rent and expenses going on, and you might
find yourself without money and in debt before it began
to pay its way; therefore I do hope that you will keep the
money untouched except to meet your expenses in times
of illness or of necessity of some kind. If you can save
up money sufficient to start an establishment, it will,
I think, be a good thing, especially if you could se-
cure the promise of four or five pupils to come to you at
once. If in a few years you should see your way to insure
starting with enough pupils to pay your way, and I am
alive at the time, I would draw out enough to furnish the
house and will look after it for you.' That was a great

A DEAF GIRL, 31

concession on her part, but I certainly would not let her
do it, for she is so happy in her home now, and I know
that she would worry herself to death."

" Well, Netta, you know I am still ready to become the
capitalist."

Both girls laughed merrily.

"Why not, Netta?" the speaker went on. "I know
you said that you would not accept money as a loan even
from me, which, as I told you, was very stupid and very
disagreeable, but there is no reason why we should not do
it in a business way. Other women go into business, why
shouldn't I? As you know, I can't absolutely touch my
money until I come of age, and it is nearly three years be-
fore that; still, I feel sure that the General would let me
have some money, and we could start the Institute. It
would be great fun. Of course, in the first place, you
would be principal, or lady superintendent, or whatever
you like to call yourself, and you would draw, say, five
hundred pounds a year. After that we could divide the
profits."

Again both girls laughed.

"And that is what you call a business transaction?"
the other said. " I know that your guardian is very kind,
and indeed spoils you altogether, but I don't think that
you would get him to advance you money for such a
scheme."

" I am really in earnest, Netta."

" Oh, I don't say that you would not do it, if you could.
However, I think, anyhow, we had better wait until you
come of age. There is plenty of time. I am only twenty
yet, and even in three years' time I doubt whether I
should quite look the character of professor or lady super-
intendent."

" Well, directly I get of age I shall carry out my part
of the plan," Hilda said positively, " and if you are dis-
agreeable and won't do as I want you, I shall write to the
professor and ask him to recommend a superintendent."

The other laughed again.

" You would have a difficulty, Hilda. You and I are,

32 THE LOST EEIB.

so far, the only two English girls who have learned the
system, and either your superintendent would have to
learn English or all her pupils would have to learn Ger-
man."

" We will not discuss it further at present, Miss Pur-
cell," Hilda said with dignity. " Oh, dear, those were
happy days we had in that dear old house, with its pretty
garden, when you were thirteen and I was eleven. I have
got a great deal of fun from it since. One gets such curi-
ous little scraps of conversation."

" Then the people do not know what you learned over
with us?"

" No, indeed; as you know, it was not for a year after I
came back that I became altogether the General's ward,
and my dear mother said to me just before she died, ' It
would be better for you, dear, not to say anything about
that curious accomplishment of yours. I know that you
would never use it to any harm, but if people knew it
they would be rather afraid of you.' Uncle said the same
thing directly I got here. So of course I have kept it to
myself, and indeed if they had not said so I should never
have mentioned it, for it gives m'e a great deal of amuse-
ment."

When Hilda Covington was ten years old, she had, after
a severe attack of scarlet fever, lost her hearing, and
though her parents consulted the best specialists of the
time, their remedies proved of no avail, and at last they
could only express a hope, rather than an opinion, that in.
time, with added health and strength, nature might repair
the damage. A year after her illness Mr. Covington
heard of an aurist in Germany who had a European repu-
tation, and he and Mrs. Covington took Hilda over to
him. After examining her he said, " The mischief is
serious, but not, I think, irreparable. It is a case requir-
ing great care both as to dieting, exercise, and clothing.
If it could be managed I should like to examine her ears
once a fortnight, or once a month at the least. I have a
house here where my patients live when under treatment,
but I should not for a moment advise her being placed

A DEAF GIRL. o3

*^ie. n. child, to keep in good health, requires eneerful
companions. If you will call again to-morrow I will
think the matter over and let you know what I
recommend.

Mr. and Mrs. Covington retired much depressed. His
opinion was, perhaps, a little more favorable than any that
they had received, but the thought that their only child
must either make this considerable journey once a month
or live there altogether was very painful to them. How-
ever, on talking it over, they agreed that it was far better
that she should "reside in Hanover for a time, with the
hope of coming back cured, than that she should grow up
•hopelessly deaf.

" It will only be as if she were at school here," Mr. Cov-
ington said. " She will no doubt be taught to talk Ger-
man and French, and even if she is never able to converse
in these languages, it will add to her pleasures if she can
read them."

The next day when they called upon the doctor he said,
u If }Tou can bring yourself to part with the child, I have,
I think, found the very thing to suit her. In the first
place you must know that there is in the town an establish-
ment, conducted by a Professor Menzel, for the instruc-
tion of deaf mutes. It is quite a new system, and con-
sists in teaching them to read from the lips of persons
speaking to them the words that they are saying. The
system is by no means difficult for those who have still,
like your daughter, the power of speech, and who have
lost only their hearing. But even those born deaf and
dumb have learned to be able to converse to a certain de-
gree, though their voices are never quite natural, for in
nine cases out of ten deaf mutes are mutes only because
the\ have never learned to use their tongue. However,
happily that is beside the question in your daughter's case.
I hope that she will regain her hearing; but should this
unfortunately not be the case_, it will at least be a great
mitigation to her position to be able to read from the lips
of those who address her what is said, and therefore to
converse like an ordinary person. I can assure you that

34 THE LOST HEIR.

many ol Herr Menzel's pupils con converse so easily and
rapidly that no one would have the least idea of the mis-
fortune from which they suffer, as in fact they feel no in-
convenience beyond the fact that they are not aware of
being addressed by anyone standing behind them, or
whose face they do not happen to be watching."

" That would indeed be a blessing! " Mrs. Covington ex-
claimed. " I never heard of such a system."

" No, it is quite new, but as to its success there can be
no question. I called upon Professor Menzel last even-
ing. He said that as your daughter did not understand
German the difficulties of her tuition would be very great.
He has, however, among his pupils a young English girl
two years older than your daughter. She lives with a
maiden aunt, who has established herself here in order
that her niece might have the benefit of learning the new
system. Here is her name and address. The professor
has reason to believe that her income is a small one, and
imagines that she would gladly receive your daughter as
a boarder. Her niece, who is a bright girl, would be a
pleasant companion, and, moreover, having in the two
years that she has been here made very great progress, she
would be able to commence your daughter's education by
conversing with her in English, and could act as her
teacher in German also; and so soon as the language was
fairly mastered your daughter could then become a pupil
of the professor himself."

" That would be an excellent plan indeed," Mrs. Cov-
ington said, and her husband fully agreed with her. The
doctor handed her a slip of paper with the name, " Miss
Purcell, 2nd Etage, 5 Koenigstrasse."

Hilda had already been informed by the finger alphabet,
which had been her means of communication since her ill-
ness, of the result of the conversation with the doctor on
the previous day, and although she had cried at the
thought of being separated from her father and mother,
she had said that she would willingly bear anything if
there was a hope of her regaining her hearing. She had
watched earnestly the conversation between the doctor

A DEAF GIRL. 85

and her parents, and when the former had left ana they
. explained what was proposed, her face brightened up.

"That will be very nice," she exclaimed, "and if I
could but learn to understand in that way what people
say,^ instead of watching their ringers (and some of them
'don't know the alphabet, and some who do are so slow that
one loses all patience), it would be delightful."

Before going to see Miss Purcell, Mr. and Mrs. Covin
ton talked the matter over together, and they agreed thai
if Miss Purcell were the sort of person with whom Hilda
could be happy, no plan could be better than that
proposed.

"It certainly would not be nice for her," Mrs. Coving-
ton said, " to be living on a second floor in a street; she
has always been accustomed to be so much in the open
air, and as the doctors all agree that much depends upon
her general health, I am sure it will be quite essential that
she should be so now. I think that we should arrange to
take some pretty little house with a good garden, just out-
side the town, and furnish it, and that Miss Purcell and
her niece should move in there. Of course we should pay
a liberal sum for board, and if she would agree, I should
say that it would be best that we should treat the house as
ours and should pay the expenses of keeping it up alto-
gether. I don't suppose she keeps a servant at present,
and there are many little luxuries that Hilda has been ac-
customed to. Then, of course, we would pay so much to
the niece for teaching Hilda German and beginning to
teach her this system. I dqp't suppose the whole thing
would cost more than three hundred pounds a year."

" The expense is nothing," Mr. Covington said. " We
could afford it if it were five times the amount. I think
your idea is a very good one, and we could arrange for her
to have the use of a pony-carriage for two or three hours
a day whenever she was disposed. The great thing is for
ber to be healthy and happy."

Ten minutes after they started with Hilda to see Miss
Purcell, after having explained to her the plan they pro-
posed. At this she was greatly pleased. The thought of

36 THE LOST HEIR.

a little house all to themselves and a girl friend wag a
great relief to her, and she looked brighter and happier
than she had done since she had lost her hearing. When
they knocked at the door of the apartment on the second
floor, it was opened by a bright-faced girl of thirteen.

"This is Miss Purcell's, is it not?" Mrs. Covington
asked.

" Yes, ma'am," the girl replied, with a slight expres-
sion of surprise which showed that visitors were very
rare.

" Will you give my card to her and say that we shall be
glad if she will allow us a few minutes' conversation with
her? "

The girl went into the room and returned in a minute
or two. "Will you* come in?" she said. "My aunt will
be glad to see you."

Miss Purcell was a woman of some fifty years old, with
a pleasant, kindly face. The room was somewhat, poorly
furnished, but everything was scrupulously neat and tidy,
and there was an air of comfort pervading it.

" We have called, Miss Purcell," Mrs. Covington began,
" in consequence of what we have learned from Dr. Hart-
wig, whom we have come over to consult, and who has
been good enough to see Professor Menzel. He has
learned from him that your niece here is acquiring the
system of learning to understand what is said by watching
the lips of speakers. The doctor is of opinion that our
daughter may in time outgrow the deafness that came on
a year ago, after scarlet fever, but he wishes her to remain
under his eye, and he suggested that it would be well that
she should learn the new system, so that in case she does
not recover her hearing she would still be able to mingle
with other people. Hilda is delicate, and it is necessary
that she should have a cheerful home; besides which she
could not begin to learn the system until she had become
familiar with German. The doctor suggested that if we
could persuade you to do us the great kindness of taking
her under your charge it would be the best possible *>*>
rangement."

A DEAF GIRL. 87

" I should be glad to do so, madam, but I fear that I
could not accommodate her, for it is a mere closet that my
niece sleeps in, and the other apartments on this floor are
all occupied. Were it not for that I should certainly be
glad to consider the matter. It would be pleasant to
Ketta to have a companion, for it is but dull work for her
alone with me. We have few acquaintances. I do not
mind saying frankty that my means are straitened, and
that I cannot indulge her with many pleasures. She is a
grandniece of mine; her father died some years ago, her
mother three years since, and naturally she came to me.
Shortly after, she lost her hearing through measles. Just
at that time I happened to hear from a German workman
of the institution which had been started in this town, of
which he was a native. I had no ties in England, and as
I heard that living was cheap there, and that the fees were
not large, I decided to come over and have her taught this
new system, which would not only add greatly to her own
happiness, but would give her the means of earning her
livelihood when she grew up; for although I have a small
pension, as my father was an Excise officer, this, of
course, will expire at my death."

" Happily, Miss Pureell, we are in a position to say that
money is no object to us. Hilda is our only child. We
have talked it over, of course, and will tell you exactly
what we propose, and I hope that you will fall in with the
arrangement."

She then stated the plan that she and her husband had
discussed.

" You see," she went on, " you would, in fact, be mis-
tress of the house, and would have the entire management
of everything as if it was your own. We are entirely igno-
rant of the cost of living here, or we might have proposed
a fixed monthly payment for the expenses of servants and
outgoings, and would still do that if you would prefer it,
though we thought that it would be better that you
should, at the end of each month, send us a line saying
what the disbursements had been. We would wish every-
thing done on a liberal scale. Hilda has- little appetite,

38 THE LOST HEIR.

and it will, for a time, want tempting. However, that
matter we could leave to you. We propose to pay a hun-
dred a year to you for your personal services as mistress
of the house, and fifty pounds to your niece as Hilda's
companion and instructor in German and in the system,
until she understands the language well enough to attend
Professor Menzel's classes. If the house we take has a
stable we should keep a pony and a light carriage, and a
big lad or young man to look after it and drive, and to
keep the garden in order in his spare time. I do hope,
Miss Purcell, that you will oblige us by falling in with our
plans. If you like we can give you a day to consider
them."

" I do not require a minute," she replied; " my only
hesitation is because the terms that you offer are alto-
gether too liberal."

" That is our affair," Mrs. Covington said. " We want
a comfortable, happy home for our child, and shall always
feel under a deep obligation to you if you will consent."

" I do consent most willingly and gratefully. The
arrangement will be a delightful one for me, and I am
sure for Netta."

Netta, who had been standing where she could watch
the lips of both speakers, clapped her hands joyously.
"Oh, auntie, it will be splendid! Fancy having a house,
and a garden, and a pony-chaise! "

" You understand ail we have been saying then,
Netta? "

"I understand it all," the girl replied. "I did noi;
catch every word, but quite enough to know all that you
were saying."

" That certainly is a proof of the goodness of the sys-
tem," Mr. Covington said, speaking for the first time.
" How long have you been learning? "

" Eighteen months, sir. We have been here two years,
but I was six months learning German before I knew
enough to begin, and for the next six months I could not
get on very fast, as there were so many words that I did
not knowa so that really I have only been a year at it.

A DEAF GIRL. 39

The professor says that in another year I shall be nearly
perfect and fit to begin to teach; and he has no doubt that
he will be able to find me a situation where I can teach in
the daytime and still live with my aunt."

In a week the necessary arrangements were all made.
A pretty, furnished house, a quarter of a mile out of town,
with a large garden and stables, had been taken, and Netta
and Hilda had already become friends, for as the former
had learned to talk with her fingers before she came out
she was able to keep up her share of the conversation by
that means while Hilda talked in reply.

" The fingers are useful as a help at first/' Ketta said,
" but Professor Menzel will not allow any of his pupils to
use their fingers, because they come to rely upon them in-
stead of watching the lips."

CHAPTEE IV.

THE GYPSY.

Mr. and Mrs. Covington remained for a week aftep
Hilda was installed with the Purcells in their new home.
To her the house with its garden and pretty pony-carriage
and pony were nothing remarkable, but Netta's enjoy-
ment in all these things amused her, and the thought that
she, too, would some day be able to talk and enjoy life as
her companion did, greatly raised her spirits. Her father
and mother were delighted at hearing her merry laugh
mingled with that of Netta as they walked together in the
garden, and they went home with lighter hearts and more
hopeful spirits than they had felt since the child's illness
began.

Every three or four months — for a journey to Hanover
was a longer and more serious business in 1843 than it is
at present — they went over to spend a week there. There
could be no doubt from the first that the change was most
beneficial to Hilda. Her cheeks regained their color and
her limbs their firmness. She lost the dull look and the
apathy to whatever was going on around her that had be-
fore distressed them. She progressed very rapidly in her
study of German, and at the end of six months her conver-
sations with Netta were entirely carried on in that lan-
guage. She had made some little progress in reading
from her companion's lips and had just entered at Herr
Menzel's academy. She could now take long walks with
Netta, and every afternoon, or, as summer came on, every
evening, they drove together in the pony-chaise. With
renewed health and strength there had been some slight
improvement in her hearing. She could now faintly dis-
tinguish any loud sounds, such as those of the band of ai
regiment marching past her or a sudden peal of bells.

TEE GYPSY. 41

"I think that we shall make an eventual aire," Dr.
Hartwig said. " It will be slow, and possibly her hearing
may never be absolutely good; but at least we may hope
that she may be able to eventually hear as well as nine
people out of ten."

In another year she could, indeed, though with diffi-
culty, hear voices, and when she had been at Hanover
three years her cure was almost complete, and she now
went every morning to school to learn French and music.
She herself was quite content to remain there. She was
very happy in her life and surroundings, and could now
read with the greatest facility from the lips, and indeed
preferred watching a speaker's mouth to listening to the
voice. It was a source of endless amusement to her that
she could, as she and Netta walked through the streets,
read scraps of conversation between persons on the other
side of the street or passing in carriages.

Another six months and both the doctor and Professor
Menzel said that they could do nothing more for her.
She was still somewhat hard of hearing, but not enough
go to be noticeable; while she could with her eyes follow
the most rapid speaker, and the Professor expressed his
regret that so excellent an example of the benefit of his
system should not be in circumstances that would compel
her to make a living by becoming a teacher in it. Netta
was now a paid assistant at the institution.

The end of what had been a very happy time to Hilda
came abruptly and sadly, for three weeks before the date
when her parents were to come over to take her home,
Miss Purcell, on opening a letter that came just as they
had finished breakfast, said, after sitting silent for a few
minutes, "You need not put on your things, Hilda; you
cannot go to school this morning; I have some bad news,
dear — very bad news."

The tone of voice in which she spoke, even more than
the words, sent a chill into the girl's heart.

" What is it, aunt? " she said, for she had from the first
Bsed the same term as Netta in addressing her.

" Your father has had a serious illness, my dear — a

42 THE LOST HEIR.

very, very serious and sudden illness, and you* mother
wishes you to go home at once."

Hilda looked at her with frightened, questioning ej'es,
while every vestige of color left her cheeks. " Is he— is
he " she asked.

" Here is an inclosure for you," Miss Purcell said, as
she got up, and taking Hilda's hand in one of hers drew
her with the other arm close to her; " your mother wrote
to me that I might prepare you a little before giving it to
you. A terrible misfortune has happened. Your dear
father is dead. He died suddenly of an affection of the
heart."

" Oh, no, no; it cannot be! " Hilda cried.

" It is true, my dear. God has taken him. You must
be strong and brave, dear, for your mother's sake."

" Oh, my poor mother, my poor mother! " Hilda cried,
bursting into a sudden flood of tears, " what will she
do!"

It was not until some time afterwards that she was suffi-
ciently composed to read her mother's letter, which caused
her tears to flow afresh. After giving the details of her
father's death, it went on:

" I have written to your uncle, General Mathieson, who
is, I know, appointed one of the trustees, and is joined
with me as your guardian. I have asked him to find and
send over a courier to fetch you home, and no doubt he
will arrive a day or two after you receive this letter. So
please get everything ready to start at once, when he
comes."

Two days later General Mathieson himself arrived, ac-
companied by a courier. It was a great comfort to Hilda
that her uncle had come for her instead of a stranger.

"It is very kind of you to come yourself, uncle," she
said as she threw herself crying into his arms.

" Of course I should come, dear," he said. " Who-
should fetch you except your uncle? I had to bring a
courier with me, for I don't understand any of their lan-
guages, and he will take all trouble off my hands. Now
let me look at your face." It was a pale* sad little face

THE GYPSY. 43

that was lifted up, but two days of sorrow had not
obliterated the signs of health and well-being.

" "Whiter than it ought to be," he said, " but clear and
healthy, and very different from what it was when I saw
you before you came out. You have grown wonderfully,
child. Really, I should hardly have known you again."

And so he kept on for two or three mintues, to allow
her to recover herself.

" Now, dear, you must take me in and introduce me to
your kind friends here."

Hilda led the way into the sitting room.

" I have h< ard so much of you and your niece, Miss
Purcell," he said as he shook hands with her, " that I do
do not feel that you are a stranger. You certainly seem
to have worked wonders between you for my niece, and I
must own that in the first place I thought it a mistake her
being here by herself, for I had no belief that either her
hearing would be restored or that she would ever be able
to follow what people were saying by only staring at
their lips."

" Yes, indeed, Hanover has agreed with her, sir, and it
is only a small part of the credit that is due to us."

" I must differ from you entirely, madam. If she had
not been perfectly happy here with you, she would never
have got on as she has done."

" Have you any luggage, sir? Of course you will stay
with us to-night."

" No, thank you, Miss Purcell. We have already been
to the Kaiserhof, and long before this my courier will
have taken rooms and made every preparation for me.
You see, I am accustomed to smoke at all times, and could
not think of scenting a house, solely inhabited by ladies,
with tobacco. Now, if you will excuse me, I will ask
Hilda to put on her bonnet and take a stroll with me."

" I 6hall be very gkd for her to do so. It is just getting
cool and pleasant for walking, and half an hour in the
fresh air will do her good."

It was an hour before they returned. General Mathie-
eon had gently told her all there was to tell of her father's

44 TEE LOST HEIR.

death, and turning from that he spoke of her mother, and
how nobly she was hearing her troubles, and erelong her
tears, which had burst out anew, flowed more quietty, and
she felt comforted. Presently she said suddenly:

" What is going to be done here, uncle ? I have been
thinking over that ever since it was settled that I was to
come home next month, and I am sure that, although she
has said nothing about it, Miss Purcell has felt the change
that is coming. She said the other day, ' I shall not go
hack to the apartments where you found us, Hilda. You
see, we are a great deal better off than we were before.
In the first place I have had nothing whatever to spend,
and during the four years the ridiculously liberal sum
paid to ISTetta and myself has been all laid aside and has
mounted up to six hundred pounds. My pension of
eighty pounds a year has also accumulated, with the ex-
ception of a small sum required for our clothes, so that in
fact I have nearly a thousand pounds laid by. Netta is
earning thirty pounds a year at the Institute; with that
and my pension and the interest on money saved we shall
get on very comfortably.' I should not like, uncle, to
think of them in a little stuffy place in the town. Hav-
ing a nice garden and everything comfortable has done a
great deal for Miss Purcell. Ketta told me that she was
very delicate before, and that she is quite a different
woman since she came out here from the town. You can-
not tell how kind she has always been. If I had been her
own child, she could not have been more loving. In fact,
no one could have told by her manner that she was not
my mother and Netta my sister."

" Yes, dear, I ran down to your mother before starting
to fetch you to help in the arrangements, and she spoke
about Miss Purcell. Under ordinary circumstances, of
course, at the end of the four years that you have been
here the house would be given up and she would, as you
say, go into a much smaller place; but your mother does
not consider that these are ordinary circumstances, and
thinks that her care and kindness have had quite as much
to do "^th the improvement in your health as has the doc-

TEE 07PS7. i5

i
tor. Of course we had no time to come to any definite
plan, but she has settled that things are to go on here
exactly as at present, except that your friend Netta will
not be paid for acting as companion to you. I am to tell
Miss Purcell that with that exception everything is to go
on as before, and that your mother will need a change, and
will probably come out here in a month or so for some
time."

" Does she really mean that, uncle? "

" Certainly, and the idea is an excellent one. After
such a shock as she has had an entire change of scene will
be most valuable; and as she knows Miss Purcell well, and
you like the place very much, I don't think that any bet-
ter plan could be hit upon. I dare say she will stay here
two or three months, and you can continue your studies.
At the end of that time I have no doubt some plan that
will give satisfaction, to all parties will be hit upon."

Hilda returned to Hanover with her mother a month
later. At the end of three months Mrs. Covington
bought the house and presented the deeds to Miss Purcell,
who had known nothing whatever of her intentions.

" I could not think of accepting it," she exclaimed.

" But you cannot help accepting it, dear Miss Purcell;
here are the deeds in your name. The house will be
rather large for you at present, but in a few years, indeed
in two or three years, Netta could begin to take a few
pupils. As soon as she is ready to do so I shall, of course,
mention it among my friends, and be able to send a few
children, whose parents woidd be ready to pay well to
have them taught this wonderful method of brightening
their lives, which is at present quite unknown in Eng-
land."

So it was arranged; but a few months after her return
to England Mrs. Covington, who had never altogether re-
covered from the shock of her husband's death, died after
a short illness, and Hilda became an inmate of her uncle"*
hou>e. Since that time three years had elapsed, and
Hilda was now eighteen, and Netta was over for a two
months' visit.

46 THE LOST HEIR.

The scene in the grounds of Lady Moulton's charming
villa at Richmond, a fortnight after the conversation be-
tween that lady and Hilda, was a gay one. Everyone in
society had been invited and there were but few refusals;
the weather was lovely, and all agreed that even at Ascot
the costumes were not brighter or more varied.

Although the fete was especially on behalf of a charity,
no admission fees were charged to guests, but everyone
understood that it would be his duty to lay out money
at the various picturesque tents scattered about under
the trees. In these were all the most popular entertainers
of the day. In one pavilion John Parry gave a short
entertainment every half-hour. In a larger one Mario,
Grisi, Jenny Lind, and Alboni gave short concerts, and
high as were the prices of admission, there was never a seat
vacant. Conjurers had a tent, electro-biologists— then
the latest rage from the United States— held their seances,
and at some distance from the others Richardson's booth
was in full swing. The Grenadiers' band and a string
band played alternately.

Not the least attraction to many was the gypsy tent
erected at the edge of a thick shrubbery, for it soon be-
came rumored that the old gypsy woman there was no
ordinary impostor, but really possessed of extraordinary
powers of palmistry. Everything had been done to add
to the air of mystery pervading the place. Externally it
was but a long, narrow marquee. On entering, the in-
quirer was shown by an attendant to a seat in an apart-
ment carpeted in red, with black hangings and black cloth
lining the roof. From this hung a lamp, all other light
being excluded. As each visitor came out from the inner
apartment the next in order was shown in, and the heavy
curtains shut off all sound of what was passing. Here
sat an apparently aged gypsy on an old stump of a tree.
A fire burned on the ground and a pot was suspended by
a tripod over it; a hood above this carried the smoke out
of the tent. The curtains here were red; the roof, as in
the other compartment, black, but sprinkled with gold and
silver stars. A stool was placed for the visitor close

THE GYPSY. 47

enough to the gypsy for the latter to examine her hand
by the light of two torches, which were fastened to a
rough sapling stuck in the ground.

Hilda possessed every advantage for making thejnost of
the situation. Owing to her intimacy with Lady Moul-
ton, and her experience for a year in the best London
society, she knew all its gossip, while she had gathered
much more than others knew from the conversations both
of the dancers and the lookers-on.

The first to enter was a young man who had been
laughingly challenged by the lady he was walking with to
go in and have his fortune told.

" Be seated, my son," the old woman said; " give me
your hand and a piece of money."

With a smile he handed her half a sovereign. She
crossed his palm with it and then proceeded attentively to
examine the lines.

" A fair beginning," she said, " and then troubles and
difficulties. Here I see that, some three years back, there
is the mark of blood; you won distinction in war. Then
there is a cross-mark which would show a change. Some
good fortune befell you. Then the lines darken. Things
go from bad to worse as they proceed. You took to a
vice — cards or horse-racing. Here are evil associates, but
there is a white line that runs through them. There is a
girl somewhere, with fair hair and blue eyes, who loves
you, and whom you love, and whose happiness is im-
periled by this vice and these associates. Beyond, there
is another cross-line and signs of a conflict. What bap-
pens after will depend upon yourself. Either the white
line and the true love will prove too powerful for the bad
influences or these will end in ruin and — ah! sudden and
violent death. Your future, therefore, depends upon your-
self, and it is for you to say which influence must triumph.
That is all."

Without a word he went out.

" You look pale, Mr. Desmond ," the lady said when he
rejoined her. " What has she told you? "

" I would rather not tell you, Mrs. Markham," he said

48 THE LOST HEIR.

seriously. " I thought it was going to be a joke, but it is
very far from being one. Either the woman is a witch or
she knew all about me personally, which is barely within
the limits of possibility. At any rate she has given me
something to think of."

" I will try myself," the lady said; " it is very interest-
ing."

" I should advise you not to," he said earnestly.

"Nonsense!" she laughed; "I have no superstitions.
I will go in and hear what she has to say." And leaving
him, she entered the tent.

The gypsy examined her hand in silence. " I would
rather not tell you what I see," she said as she dropped
the hand. " Oh, ridiculous ! " the lady exclaimed. " I
have crossed your palm with gold, and I expect to get my
money's worth," and she held out her hand again. ■

The gypsy again examined it.

" You stand at the crossing of the ways. There are
two men — one dark, quiet, and earnest, who loves you.
You love him, but not as he loves you; but your line of
life runs smoothly until" the other line, tbat of a brown
man, becomes mixed up in it. He loves you too, with a
hot, passionate love that would soon fade. You had a
letter from him a day or two back. Last night, as he
passed you in a dance, he whispered, ' I have not had an
answer,' and the next time he passed you. you replied,
' You must give me another day or two.' Upon the an-
swer you give the future of your life will depend. Here
is a broad, fair line, and here is a short, jagged one, telling
of terrible troubles and misery. It is for you to decide
which course is to be yours."

As she released her hold of the hand it dropped nerve-
less. The gypsy poured out a glass of water from a jug by
her side, but her visitor waved it aside, and with a great
effort rose to her feet, her face as pale as death.

" My God! " she murmured to herself, " this woman is
really a witch."

" They do not burn witches now," the gypsy said; " I
*mlv ^ead what I see on the palm. Ycu cannot deny that

THE GYPSY. 49

what i nave said is true. Stay a moment and drink a
glass of wine; you need it before you go out."

She took a bottle of wine from behind her seat, emptied
the water on to the earth, half filled a tumbler, and held
it out. The frightened woman felt that indeed she
needed it before going out into the gay scene, and tossed
it off.

" Thank you! " she said. " Whoever you are, I thank
you. You have read my fate truly, and have helped me
to decide it."

Desmond was waiting for her when she came out, but
she passed him with a gesture.

" You are right! " she said. " She is a witch indeed! "

Few other stories told were as tragic, but in nearly
every case the visitors retired puzzled at the knowledge
the gypsy possessed of their life and surroundings, and it
soon became rumored that the old woman's powers were
something extraordinary, and the little ante-room was
kept filled with visitors waiting their turn for an audience.
No one noticed the long and frequent absences of Hilda
Covington from the grounds. The tent had been placed
with its back hiding a small path through the shrubbery.
Through a peep-hole arranged in the curtain she was able
to see who was waiting, and each time before leaving said
a few words as to their lives which enabled Netta to sup-
port the character fairly. "When the last guest had de-
parted and she joined Lady Moulton, she handed over a
bag containing nearly a hundred pounds.

" I have deducted five pounds for the gypsy," she said,
" and eight pounds for the hire of the tent and its
fittings."

" That is at least five times as much as I expected,
Hilda. I have heard all sorts of marvelous stories of the
power of your old woman. Several people told me that
she seemed to know all about them, and told them things
that they believed were only known to themselves. But
how did she get so much money?"

Hilda laughed. " I hear that they began with half-
sovereigns, but as soon as they heard of her real powers,

50 THE LOST HEIR.

they did not venture to present her with anything less
than a sovereign, and in a good many cases they gave more
- — no doubt to propitiate her into giving them good for-
tunes. You see, each visitor only had two or three
minutes' interview, so that she got through from twenty
to thirty an hour; and as it lasted four hours she did ex-
ceedingly well."

" But who is the gypsy, and where did you find her? "

" The gypsy has gone, and is doubtless by this time in
some caravan or gypsy tent. I do not think that you will
ever find her again."

" I should have suspected that you played the gypsy
yourself, Hilda, were it not that I saw you half a dozen
times."

" I have no skill in palmistry," the girl laughed, " and
certainly have not been in two places at once. I did my
duty and heard Jenny Lind sing and Parry play, though
I own that I did not patronize Kichardson's booth."

" Well, it is extraordinary that this old woman should
know the history of such a number of people as went into
her tent, few of whom she could ever have heard of even
by name, to say nothing of knowing them by sight."

Several ladies called within the next few days, specially
to inquire from Lady Moulton about the gypsy.

" Everyone is talking about her," one said. " Cer-
tainly she told me several things about the past that it
was hardly possible that a woman in her position could
know. I have often heard that gypsies pick up informa-
tion from servants, or in the country from village gossip;
but at least a hundred people visited this woman's tent,
and from what I hear everyone was as astonished as I was
myself at her knowledge of their family matters. It is
said that in some cases she went farther than this, and told
them things about the present known only to themselves
and two or three intimate friends. Some of them seemed
to have been quite seriously affected. I saw Mrs. Mark-
ham just after she had left the tent, and she was as white
as a sheet, and I know she drove away a few minutes after-
. wards '"

THE 0TP8T. 51

To all inquiries Lady Moulton simply replied:
" I know no more about the gypsy than you do. Miss
Covington took the entire management of the gypsy tent
off my hands, saw to the tent being erected, and engaged
the gypsy. Where she picked her up I have no idea, but
I fancy that she must have got her from their encamp-
ment on Ham Common. She turned the matter off when
I asked her point-blank, and I imagine that she must have
given the old crone a promise not to let it be known who
she was.. They are curious people, the gypsies, and for
aught I know may have an objection to any of the tribe
going to a gathering like ours to tell fortunes."

Some appeals were made to Hilda personally; but Lady
Moulton had told her the answer she had given, and tak-
ing her cue from it she was able to so shape her replies
that her questioners left her convinced that she had
really, while carrying out Lady Moulton's instructions,
lighted on a gypsy possessing some of the secrets of thi?
almost forgotten science of palmistry.

CHAPTER V.

A GAMBLING DEN.

In a corner of one of the winding courts that lie behind
Fleet Street stood a dingy-looking house, the lamp over
the door bearing the words, " Billiards and Pool." Dur-
ing the daytime no one would be seen to eater save be-
tween the hours of twelve and two, when perhaps a dozen
young fellows, after eating a frugal lunch, would resort
there to pass their hour out of office in smoking and a
game of billiards. Of an evening, however, there were
lights in every window, and the click of balls could be
heard from the ground floor and that above it. In each of
these there were two tables, and the play continued unin-
terruptedly from seven until eleven or half-past.

The lights on the second floor, however, often burned
until two or three o'clock in the morning, and it was here
that the proprietor reaped by far the larger proportion of
his profits. While the billiard-room windows generally
stood open, those of the large room on the second floor
were never raised, and when the lights below were ex-
tinguished, heavy curtains were dropped across the win-
dows to keep both the light and the sounds within from
being seen or heard in the court below. Here was a large
roulette table, while along the sides of the room were
smaller tables for those who preferred other games.
Here almost every evening some thirty or forty men
assembled. Of these, perhaps a third were clerks or shop
assistants, the remainder foreigners of almost every
nationality. Betting lists were exposed at one end of the
room. Underneath these a bookmaker had a small table,
and carried on his trade.

Tu 1851 there were a score of such places in the neigh-

52

A GAMBLING DEN 53

borhooa of the Strand and Fleet Street, but few did a
larger business than this. It was generally understood
that Wilkinson, the proprietor, had been a soldier; but the
belief originated rather from his upright carriage and a
certain soldierly walk than from anything he had himself
said, and he was not the sort of man whom even the most
regular of the frequenters of his establishment cared to
question. He was a tall man, some five-and-forty years of
age, taciturn in speech, but firm in manner while business
was going on. He kept admirable order in the place. He
was generally to be found in the room on the second floor,
but when a whistle blew, and one of the markers whis-
pered up a speaking-tube that there was a dispute going
on between the players or lookers-on, he was at once upon
the spot.

" Now, gentlemen,'' he would sa}r, interposing between
them, " you know the rules of this establishment; the
marker's decision on all points connected with the game
is final, and must be accepted by both parties. I will have
no quarrels or disputes here, and anyone making a row
goes straight out into the street, and never comes in here
again."

In the vast majority of cases this settled the matter;
but when the men were flushed with liquor, and inclined
to continue the dispute, they were seized by the collar by
Wilkinson's strong arm and were summarily ejected from
the house. In the inner room he preserved order as
strictly, but had much more difficulty in doing so among
the foreign element. Here quarrels were not uncommon,
and knives occasionally drawn; but Wilkinson was a
powerful man and a good boxer, and a flush hit from the
shoulder always settled the business.

But though stern in the management of his establish-
ment, Wilkinson was popular among its frequenters. He
was acquainted with most of their callings and business.
Indeed, none were admitted to the upper room unless well
introduced by habitues, or until he had made private in-
quiries concerning them. Thus he knew among the for-
eigners whom he could trust, and how far, when, after a

54 TEE LOST HEIR.

run of ill luck, they came to him and asked him for a
loan, he could venture to go.

With the English portion of his customers he was still
more liberal. He knew that he should not be a loser
from transactions with them; they must repay him, for
were it known to their employers that they were in the
habit of gambling, it would mean instant dismissal.
There were among them several lawyers' clerks, some of
whom were, in comparison with their means, deeply in debt
to him. One or other of those he would often invite up to
his private room on the floor above, where a bottle of
good wine would be on the table, a box of excellent cigars
beside it, and here they would chat more or less comfort-
ably until the roulette room opened.

Mr. Wilkinson made no pretense that these meetings
were simply for the purpose of drinking his wine and
smoking his cigars. "lama straightforward man," he
would say, " and business is business. I oblige you, and
I expect you to oblige me. I have always had a fancy
that there is money to be made in connection with law-
yers' businesses. There are missing heirs to be hunted
up; there are provisos in deeds, of whose existence some
one or other would give a good deal to know. Now, I am
sure that you are not in a position to pay me the amount
I have lent you, and for which I hold your I. 0. XL's. I
have no idea of pressing you for the money, and shall be
content to let it run on so long as you will let me know
what is being done at your office. The arrangement is
that you will tell me anything that you think can be used
to advantage, and if money is made out of any informa-
tion you may give me, I will engage to pay you a third of
what it brings in. Now, I call that a fair bargain. What
do you say? "

In some cases the offer was closed with at once; in
others it was only agreed to after threats that the debt
must be at once paid or an application would be made
forthwith. So far the gambling-house keeper's expecta-
tions had not met with the success he had looked for.
He had spent a good deal of time iD endeavoring to find

A GAMBLING DEN 55

the descendants of persons who stood in the direct line of
succession to properties, but of whom all clew had been
lost. He had indeed obtained an insight into various
family differences that had enabled him to successfully
extort blackmail, but his gains in this way had not, so far,
recouped him for the sums he had, as he considered, in-
vested in the speculation.

He was, however, a patient man, and felt, no doubt, that
60oner or later he should be able to make a coup that
would set him up for life. Still he was disappointed; his
idea had been the one held by many ignorant persons, that
lawyers are as a class ready to resort to tricks of all kinds,
in the interests of their clients or themselves. He had
found that he had been altogether wrong, and that al-
though there were a few firms which, working in connection
with money-lenders, financial agents, and the lowest class
of bill discounters, were mixed up in transactions of a
more or less shady character, these were the black sheep
of the profession, and that in the vast majority of cases
the business transacted was purely technical and con-
nected with the property of their clients. Nevertheless,
he took copious notes of all he learned, contending that
there was no saying what might come in useful some day.

" Well, Dawkins," he said one day to a dark-haired
young fellow with a handsome face that already showed
traces of the effect of late hours and dissipation, " I sup-
pose it is the usual thing; the lawsuit as to the right of
way at Brownsgrove is still going on, the settlements in
Mr. Cochrane's marriage to Lady Gertrude Ivory are
being drawn up, and other business of the same sort.
You never give me a scrap of information that is of the
Blightest use. I am afraid that your firm is altogether
too eminently respectable to have anything to do with
doubtful transactions."

" I told you so from the first, Wilkinson; that whatever
your game might be, there would be nothing in our office
that could be of the least use to you, even if you had
copies of every deed drawn up in it. Ours is what you
might call a family business. Our clients have for the

66 TEE LOST HEIR.

most part dealt with the firm for the last hundred years;
that is to say, their families have. We have drawn their
wills, their marriage settlements, their leases, and done
everything relating to their property for years and years.
My own work for the last two or three days has heen draft-
ing and engrossing the will of a General Mathieson, whose
father and grandfather were our clients before him."

" Mathieson — he is an old Indian officer, isn't he, if it
is the man I mean? He was in command at Benares
twenty years ago. He was a handsome man, then, about
my height and build."

"Yes, I have no doubt that is the man — John Le
Marchand Mathieson."

" That is him. He was very popular with the troops.
He used to spend a good deal of money in improving their
rations and making them comfortable. Had a first-rate
stable, and they used to say he was a rich man. Anyhow,
he spent a good deal more than his pay."

" Yes, he was a second son, but his elder brother died,
and he came into the property; but instead of coming
home to enjoy it he stopped out in India for years after
he came into it."

" He had a daughter, quite a little girl, in those days;
her mother died out there. I suppose she inherits his
property? "

"Well, no; she married some time back; she and her
husband are both dead, and their son, a boy, six or seven
years old, lives with the old man."

"How much does he leave?"

" Something over a hundred thousand pounds. At
least I know that that is about the value of the estates,
for we have always acted as his agents, collected the
rents, and so on."

" I should like to see a copy of his will," Wilkinson said,
after sitting for some time silent. " I don't want all the
legal jargon, but just the list of the legacies." "

" I can easily jot those down for you. The property
goes to the grandson, and if he dies before coming of age,
to a niece, Hilda Covington, who is his ward and lives with

A GAMBLING DEN 57

him. He leaves her beside only five hundred pounds, be-
cause she is herself an heiress. There are a score of small
legacies, to old servants, soldiers, widows, and people of
that sort."

" "Well, you may as well give me the list entire."

Dawkins shrugged his shoulders.

" Just as you like," he said: " the will was signed yester-
day, but I have the note of instructions still by me, and
will bring round the list to-morrow evening; though,
upon my word, I don't see what interest it can possibly
have for you."

" I don't know myself," the other said shortly, " but
there is never any saying/'

After talking for a few minutes on other subjects he
said, " The room is open downstairs now, Dawkins, and
as we have finished the bottle I will not keep you any
longer. In fact, the name of that old General has called
up some queer memories of old times, and I should like to
think them over."

When the clerk had left, Wilkinson sat for a long time
in thought.

" It is a great idea," he murmured to himself at last;
"it will want a tremendous lot of planning to arrange it
all, and of course it is tremendously risky. Still, it can be
done, and the stake is worth trying for, even if it would
be seven years' transportation if anything went wrong.
In the first place I have to get some proofs of my identity.
I own that I have neglected my family scandalously," and
his face, which had been stern and hard, softened into a
smile. " Then, of course, I must establish myself in.
chambers in the West End, and as I have three or four
thousand pounds in hand I can carry on for two or three
years, if necessary. At the worst the General is likely to
add me to his list of legatees, but of course that would
scarcely be worth pla3ring for alone. The will is the
thing. I don't see my way to that, but it is hard if it can't
be managed somehow. The child is, of course, an ob-
stacle, but that can certainly be got over, and as I don't
suppose the old man is going to die at present I have tin)'*

58 TEE LOST HEIR.

to make m/ plans. When I see how matters go I can put
my hand on a man who could be relied on to help me carry
out anything I might put in his way. Well, I always
thought that I should hit on something good through
these young scamps who come here, but this is a bigger
thing than I ever dreamed of. It will certainly be a diffi-
cult game to play, but, knocking about all over the world
as I have been for fifteen years before I came back and
set up this show, I think that I have learned enough to
pass muster anywhere/''

Somewhat to the surprise of the habitues of the room
below it was nearly eleven o'clock before the proprietor
made his appearance there, and even when he did so he
took little interest in what was going on, but moved rest-
lessly from one room to another, smoking cigar after cigar
without intermission, and acknowledging but briefly the
greetings of those who were the most regular frequenters
of his establishment.

Two days later the following advertisement appeared,
not only in the London papers, but in a large number of
country journals:

"John Simcoe: Any relatives of John Simcoe, who left
England about the year 1830 or 1831, and is supposed to
have been lost at sea in the Bay of Bengal, in the ship
Nepavl, in December, 1832, are requested to communi-
cate with J. W. Thompson & Co., Newspaper Agents,
Fleet Street, when they will hear of something to their
advantage."

Only one reply was received. It was dated "Myrtle
Cottage, Stowmarket," and was as follows:

" Sie: A friend has shown me the advertisement in the
Ipswich paper, which must, I think, refer to my nephew,
who left here twenty years ago. I received a letter from
him dated December 2, 1832, from Calcutta, saying that
he was about to sail for China in the Nepaul. I never
heard from him again, but the Eector here kindly made

A GAMBLING DEN 59

gome inquiries for me some months aftdwarus, and
learned that the vessel had never been heard of after sail-
ing, but was believed to have foundered with all hands in
a great gale that took place a few days after she sailed.
So far as I know I am his only relative. Awaiting a fur-
ther communication from you,
" I remain,

" Your obedient servant,

"Mahtha Simcoe."

Great was the excitement caused by the advertisement
at Myrtle Cottage. Miss Simcoe, who with a tiny servant
was the sole inmate of the cottage, had called together
all her female acquaintances, and consulted them as to
what the advertisement could mean, and as to the way in
which she should answer it.

" Do you think it would be safe to reply at all? " she in-
quired anxiously. " You see, my nephew John was a very
wild young fellow. I do not mean as to his conduct here;
no one could say anything against that. He was a clerk
in the bank, you know, and, I believe, was very well
thought of; but when his father died, and he came into
two thousand pounds, it seemed to turn his head. I know
that he never liked the bank; he had always wanted to be
either a soldier or a sailor, and directly he got the money
he gave up his situation at the bank, and nothing would
do but that he must travel. Everyone told him that it
was madness; his Aunt Maria — poor soul, you all knew
her — and I cried over it, but nothing would move him.
A fine-looking fellow he was, as some of you will remem-
ber, standing six feet high, and, as everyone said, looking
more like a soldier officer than a clerk at a bank.

" We asked him what he would do when his money was
gone, but he laughed it off, ^nd said that there were
plenty of things for a man to do with a pair of strong
arms. He said that he might enter the service of some
Indian prince, or marry the daughter of a black king, or
discover a diamond mine, and all sorts of nonsense of that
sort. He bought such an outfit as you never did see —

6G TBE LOST HEIR.

guns and pistols and all sorts of things; and as for clothes,
why, a prince could not have wanted more. Shirts hy the
dozen, my dear; and I should say eight or ten suits of
white clothes, which I told him would make him look like
a cricketer or a haker. Why, it took three big trunks to
hold all his things. But I will say for him that he wrote
regular, either to me or to my sister Maria. Last time
he wrote he said that he had been attacked by a tiger, but
had got well again and was going to China, though what
he wanted to go there for I am sure I don't know. He
could not want to buy teacups and saucers; they would
only get broken sending home. Well, his death was a
great blow 1 o us."

" I don't know whether I should answer the advertise-
ment, Miss Simeoe," one of her friends said. " There is
no saying what it might mean. Perhaps he got into debt
in India, and the people think that they might get paid
if they can find out his relations here."

The idea came like a douche of cold water upon the
little gathering.

" But the advertisement says, ' will hear of something
to their advantage/ Mrs. Maberley," Miss Simeoe urged
timidly.

" Oh, that is nothing, my dear. That may be only a
lawyer's trick; they are capable of anything, I have
heard."

" But they could not make Miss Simeoe pay," another
urged; " it seems to me much more likely that her nephew
may have left some of his money in the hands of a banker
at Calcutta, and now that it has been so many years un-
claimed they are making inquiries to see who is his heir.
That seems much more likely."

A murmur of assent ran round the circle, and after
much discussion the answer was drafted, and Miss Simeoe,
in a fever of anxtbty, awaited the reply.

Two days later a tall, well-dressed man knocked at the
door of Myrtle Cottage. It was a loud, authoritative
knock, such as none of Miss Simcoe's usual visitors gave.

" It must be about the advertisement," she exclaimed.

A GAMBLING DEN dl

The little servant had been enjoined to wear nei Sun-
day clothes in case a visitor should come, and after a
hasty glance to see if she was tidy, Miss Simcoe sat down
in her little parlor, and tried to assume an appearance of
calmness. The front door opened, and a man's voice in-
quired, "Is Miss Simcoe in?" Then the parlor door
opened and the visitor entered, pushing past the girl, who
had been instructed how to announce him in proper form,
and exclaiming, " My dear Aunt Martha," fairly lifted the
astonished old lady from her seat and kissed her.

" Dear me! Dear me! " she gasped, as he put her on
her feet again, " can it be that you are my nephew
John ? "

" Why, don't you know me, aunt? Twenty years of
knocking about have changed me sadly, I am afraid, but
surely you must remember me."

"Ye— es," she said doubtfully, "yes, I think that I
remember you. But, you see, we all thought that you
were dead; and I have only got that likeness of you that
was cut out in black paper by a man who came round when
you were only eighteen, and somehow I have always
thought of you as like that."

" Yes, I remember," he laughed. " Well, aunt, I have
changed since then, there is no doubt. So you see I was
not drowned, after all. I was picked up by a passing ship,
clinging to a spar, but I lost all my money in the wreck of
the Nepaul. I shipped before the mast. We traded
among the islands for some months, then I had a row with
the captain and ran away, and threw in my lot with the
natives, and I have been knocking about in the East ever
since, and have come back with enough to live on com-
fortably, and to help you, if you need it."

" Poor Maria died four years ago," she said tearfully.
u It would have been a happiness to her indeed, poor
creature, if you had come back before."

" I am sorry indeed to hear that," he replied. " Then
you are living here all alone, aunt? "

" Yes, except for my little maid. You see, John, Maria
and I laid out the money our father ]°f+ us in life annul-

62 THE LOST HEIR.

ties, and as long as we lived together we did very com-
fortably. Since then, of course, I have had to draw in a
little, but I manage very nicely."

" Well, well, aunt, there will be no occasion for you to
stint yourself any more. As I said, I have come home
with my purse warmly lined, and I shall make you an
allowance of fifty pounds a year. You were always very
kind to me as a boy, and I can very well afford it, and I
dare say it will make all the difference to you."

"My dear John, I could not think of taking such a
sum from you."

"Pooh, pooh, aunt! What is the use of money if one
cannot use it to make one's friends comfortable? So that
is settled, and I won't have anything more said about it."

The old lady wiped her eyes. " It is good of you, John,
and it will indeed make all the difference to me. It will
almost double my income, and I shan't have to look at
every halfpenny before I spend it."

" That is all right, aunt; now let us sit down comfort-
ably to chat about old times. You don't mind my smok-
ing, I hope?"

Miss Simcoe, for almost the first time in her life, told
a lie. "Not at all, John; not at all.- Now, how was it
that you did not come down yourself instead of putting
in an advertisement, which I should never have seen if my
friend Mrs. Maberley had not happened to notice it in the
paper which she takes in regularly, and brought it in to
show me?"

"Well, I could not bring myself to come down, aunt.
Twenty years make great changes, and it would have been
horrible to have come down here and found that you had
all gone, and that I was friendless in the place where I
had been brought up as a boy. I thought that, by my put-
ting it into a local paper, someone who had known me
would be sure to see it. Now let me hear about all the
people that I knew."

John Simcoe stayed for three days quietly at the cot-
tage. The news of his return spread rapidfy, and soon
many of the friends that had known him came to welcome

A GAMBLING DEN. 63

him. His aunt had told her own circle of her nephew's
wealth and liberality, and through them the news that
John Simcoe had returned home a wealthy man was im-
parted to all their acquaintances. Some of his old friends
declared that they should have known him anywhere;
others said frankly that now they knew who he was they
saw the likeness, but that if they had met him anywhere
else they did not think they should have recognized him.

John Simcoe's memory had been greatly refreshed by
his aunt's incessant talk about his early days and doings,
and as his visitors were more anxious to hear of his ad-
ventures abroad than to talk of the days long past, he had
no difficulty whatever in satisfying all as to his identity,
even had not the question been settled by his liberality to
his aunt, from whom no return whatever could possibly be
expected. When he left he handed her fifty pounds in
gold.

" I may as well give you a year's money at once," he
said; "lama careless man, and might forget to send it
quarterly."

"Where can I write to you, John?" she asked.

" I cannot give you an address at present," he said; " I
have only been stopping at a hotel until I could find
chambers to suit me. Directly I do so I will drop you a
line. I shall always be glad to hear of you, and will run
down occasionally to see you and have a chat again with
some of my old friends."

The return of John Simcoe served Stowmarket as a
subject for conversation for some time. He had spent
his money generously while there, and had given a dinner
at the principal hotel to a score of those with whom he
had been most intimate when a boy. Champagne had
flowed in unstinted abundance, and it was generally voted
that he was a capital fellow, and well deserved the good
fortune that had attended him. In the quiet Suffolk
town the tales of the adventures that he had gone through
created quite a sensation, and when repeated by their
fathers set half the boys of the place wild with a desire to
imitate his example, and to embark in a life which was at

64 THE LOST HEIR.

once delightful, and ended in acquiring untold wealtn.
On leaving he pressed several of them, especially one who
had been a fellow-clerk with him at the bank, and was
now its manager, to pay him a visit whenever they came
to town.

" I expect to be in diggings of my own in a week or
two," he said, " and shall make a point of having a spare
bed, to put up a friend at any time."

)N'T REMEMBER ME, GENERAL?" — >«£* Cfl.

The Lost Heir

CHAPTEE VI.

JOHN SIMCOE.

General Mathieson was on the point of going out for
a drive with his niece, who was buttoning her glove, when
a servant entered the drawing room and said that a gentle-
man wished to speak to him.

"Who is he? Did he give you his name or say what
,was his business? "

" No, sir. I have not seen him before. He merely
asked me to give you his message."

" I suppose I had better see him, Hilda."

" Well, uncle, I will get out of the way and go down-
Btairs when he has come in. Don't let him keep you, for
you know that when I have put you down at your club I
have an engagement to take Lina Crossley to do some
chopping first, and then for a drive in the park."

" I don't suppose that he will be five minutes, whoever
he is."

Hilda slipped away just in time to avoid the visitor.
As the manservant opened the door the General looked
with some interest at the stranger, for such it seemed to
him his visitor was. He was a tall man, well dressed, and
yet without the precision that would mark him as being a
member of a good club or an habitue of the Eow.

"You don't remember me, General?" he said, with a
slight smile.

" I cannot say that I do," the General replied. " Your
face does not seem unfamiliar to me, though I cannot at
the present moment place it."

"It is rather an uncommon name," the visitor said;
" but I am not surprised that you do not remember it or
me, for it is some twenty years since we met. My name is
Simcoe."

"Twenty years!" the General repeated. "Then it

65

66 THE LOST HEIR.

must have been in India, for twenty years ago I was in
command of the Benares district. Simcoe! " he broke
off excitedly. " Of course I knew a gentleman of that
name who did me an inestimable service; in fact, he saved
my life."

'"' I don't know that it was as much as that, but at least
I saved you from being mauled by a tiger."

" Bless me! " the General exclaimed, taking a step for-
ward, " and you are the man. I recognize you now, and
had I not believed that you had been lost at sea within a
month after you had saved my life I should have known
you at once, though, of course, twenty years have changed
you a good deal. My dear sir, I am happy indeed to know
that the report was a false one, and to meet you again."
And he shook hands with his visitor with the greatest
warmth.

" I am not surprised that you did not recognise me,"
the latter said; " I was but twenty-five then, and have
been knocking about the world ever since, and have gone
through some very rough times and done some very hard
work. Of course you saw my name among the list of the
passengers on board the Nepaul, which went down with,
as was supposed, all hands in that tremendous storm in the
Bay of Bengal. Happily, I escaped. I was washed over-
board just as the wreck of the mainmast had been cut
away. A wave carried me close to it; I climbed upon it and
lashed myself to leeward of the top, which sheltered me a
good deal. Five days later I was picked up insensible and
was carried to Singapore. I was in hospital there for
some weeks. When I quite recovered, being penniless,
without references or friends, I shipped on board a vessel
that was going on a trading voyage among the islands.
I had come out to see the world, and thought that I might
as well see it that way as another. It would take a long
time to relate my after-adventures; suffice it that at last,
after numerous wanderings, I became chief adviser of a
powerful chief in Burmah, and finally have returned
home, not exactly a rich man, but with enough to live
upon in more than comfort for the rest of my life."

JOHN SIMCOE. 67

•• How long have you been in London? "

" I have been here but a fortnight; I ran down home to
6ee if I had relatives living, but found that an old lady was
the sole survivor of my family. I need scarcely say that
my first business on reaching London was to rig myself
out in a presentable sort of way, and I may say that at
present I feel very uncomfortable in these garments after
being twenty years without putting on a black coat. I
happened the other day to see your name among those
who attended the levee, and I said to myself at jmce, ' I
will call upon the General and see if he has any* remem-
brances of me.' "

At this moment a servant entered the room with a little
note.

* My Dear Uncle: It is very naughty of you to be so
long. I am taking the carriage, and have told them to
put the other horse into the brougham and bring it round
for you at once."

For more than an hour the two men sat talking to-
gether, and Simcoe, on leaving, accepted a cordial invita-
tion from the General to dinner on the following day.

" Well, uncle, who was it ? " Hilda asked, when they met
in the drawing room a few minutes before the dinner
hour, * You said you would not be five minutes, and I
waited for a quarter of an hour and then lost patience. I
asked when I came in how long he had stayed, and heard
that he did not leave until five o'clock."

" He was a man who had saved my life in India, child."

"Dear me! And have you never heard of him since,
uncle?"

" No, dear. I did my best to find out his family, but
had no idea of ever seeing the man himself, for the simple
reason that I believed that he died twenty years ago. He
had sailed in a vessel that was reported as lost with all
hands, so you may well imagine my surnrise when he told
me who he was."

68 THE LOST HEIR.

" Did you recognize him at once, uncle ? "

" Not at first. Twenty years is a long time; and he
was only about five-and-twenty when I knew him, and of
course he has changed greatly. However, even before he
told me who he was I was able to recall his face. He was
a tall, active young fellow then, and I could certainly
trace the likeness."

" I suppose he was in the army, uncle? "

" No; he was a young Englishman who was making a
tour through India. I was in command at Benares at the
time, and he brought me letters of introduction from a
man who had come out in the same ship with him, and
also from a friend of mine in Calcutta. A few days after
he arrived I was on the point of going up with a party to
do some tiger-shooting in the Terai, and I invited him to
come with us. He was a pleasant fellow and soon made
himself popular. He never said much about himself, but
as far as I understood him he was not a rich 'man, but he
was spending his money in seeing the world, with a sort of
happy confidence that something would turn up when his
money was gone.

" We were out a week and had fair sport. As you have
often heard me say, I was passionately fond of big-game
shooting, and I had had many narrow escapes in the
course of my life, but I never had so narrow a one as hap-
pened to me on that occasion. We had winded a tiger
and had lost him. We had spent a couple of hours in
beating the jungle, but without success, and had agreed
that the brute could not have been hit as hard as we had
believed, but must have made off altogether. We were
within fifty yards of the edge of the jungle, when there
was a sudden roar, and before I could use my rifle the
tiger sprang. I was not in a howdah, but on a pad; and
the tiger struck one of its forepaws on my knee. With
the other he clung for a moment to the pad, and then we
went down together. The brute seized me by the shoul-
der and sprang into the jungle again, carried me a dozen
yards or so, and then lay down, still holding me by the
shoulder.

JOHN SIMCOE. 69

" I was perfectly sensible, but felt somewhat dazed and
stupid; I found myself vaguely thinking that he must,
after all, have been very badly hit, and, instead of making
off, had hid up within a short distance of the spot where
we saw him. I was unable to move hand or foot, for he
was lying on me, and his weight was pressing the life out
of me. I know that I vaguely hoped I should die before
he took a bite at my shoulder. I suppose that the whole
thing did not last a minute, though to me it seemed an in-
terminable time. Suddenly there was a rustling in the
bush. With a deep growl the tiger loosed his hold of my
shoulder, and, rising to his feet, faced half round. What
happened after that I only know from hearsay.

" Simcoe, it seems, was riding in the howdah on an ele-
phant behind mime. As the tiger sprang at my elephant
he fired and hit the beast on the shoulder. It was that, no
doubt, that caused its hold to relax, and brought us to the
ground together. As the tiger sprang with me into the
jungle Simcoe leaped down from the howdah and fol-
owed. He had only his empty rifle and a large hunting-
knife. It was no easy work pushing his way through the
jungle, but in a minute he came upon us. Clubbing his
gun, he brought it down on the left side of the tiger's head
before the brute, who was hampered by his broken shoul-
der, and weak from his previous wound, could spring.
Had it not been that it was the right shoulder that was
broken, the blow, heavy as it was, would have had little
effect upon the brute; as it was, having no support on that
side, it reeled half over and then, with a snarling growl,
sprang upon its assailant. Simcoe partly leaped aside,
and striking again with the barrel of his gun, — the butt
had splintered with the first blow, — so far turned it aside
that instead of receiving the blow direct, which would cer-
tainly have broken in his skull, it fell in a slanting direc-
tion on his left shoulder.

" The force was sufficient to knock him down, but, as he
fell, he drew his knife. The tiger had leaped partly be-
yond him, so that he lay under its stomach, and it could
not for the moment use either its teeth ™* claws. The

70 THE LOST HEIR.

pressure was terrible, but with his last remaining strength
he drove the knife to the full length of its blade twice
into the tiger's body. The animal rolled over for a mo-
ment, but there was still life in it, and it again sprang to
its feet, when a couple of balls struck it in the head, and
it fell dead. Three officers had slipped down from their
howdahs when they saw Simcoe rushing into the jungle,
and coming up just in time, they fired, and so finished the
conflict.

"There was not much to choose between Simcoe and
myself, though I had certainly got the worst of it. The
flesh of his arm had been pretty well stripped off from
the shoulder to the elbow; my shoulder had been broken,
and the flesh torn by the brute's teeth, but as it had not
shifted its hold from the time it first grasped me till it let
go to face Simcoe, it was not so bad as it might have been.
But the wound on the leg was more serious; its claws had
struck just above the knee-cap and had completely torn it
off. We were both insensible when we were lifted up and
carried down to the camp. In a fortnight Simcoe was
about; but it was some months before I could walk again,
and, as you know, my right leg is still stiff. I had a very
narrow escape of my life; fever set in. and when Simcoe
went down country, a month after the affair, I was still
lying between life and death, and never had an oppor-
tunity of thanking him for the manner in which, prac-
tically unarmed, he went in to face a wounded tiger in
order to save my life. You may imagine, then, my regret
when a month later we got the news that the Nepaul, in
which he had sailed, had been lost with all hands."

" It was a gallant action indeed, uncle. You told me
something about it soon after I came here, when I hap-
pened to ask you how it was that you walked so stiffly, but
you did not tell it so fully. And what is he going to do

now

jj »

" He is going to settle in London. He has been, as he
says, knocking about in the East ever since, being en-
gaged in all sorts of adventures; he has been for some
time in the service of a native chief some way up near the

JOHN SIM COm. VI

borders of Burmah, Siam, and China, and somehow got
possession of a large number of rubies and other precious
stones, which he has turned into money, and now intends
to take chambers and settle down to a quiet life, join a
club, and so on. Of course I promised to do all in my
power to further his object, and to introduce him into as
much society as he cared for."

"What is' he like, uncle?"

" He is about my height, and I suppose about five-and-
forty — though he looks rather older. No wonder, after
such a life as he has led. He carries himself well, and he
is altogether much more presentable than you would ex-
pect under the circumstances. Indeed, had I not known
that he had never served, I should unhesitatingly have
put him down as having been in the army. There is
something about the way he carries his shoulders that you
seldom see except among men who have been drilled. He
is coming here to dine to-morrow, so you will see him."

" Thaf relieves me of anxiety, uncle; for you know you
had a letter this morning from Colonel Fitzhugh, sa}ring
that he had been unexpectedly called out of town, and
you said that you would ask somebody at the club to fill
his place, but you know you very often forget things that
you ought to remember."

" I certainly had forgotten that when I asked him to
come, and as I came home I blamed myself for not having
asked someone else, so as to make up an even number."

A month later Mr. Simcoe had become an intimate of
General Mathieson's house. It had always been a matter
of deep regret to the General that he had been unable to
thank the man who at terrible risk to his life had saved
him from death, and that feeling was heightened when
the news came that his preserver had been drowned, and
that the opportunity of doing so was forever lost. He now
spared no pains to further his wishes. He constantly in-
vited him to lunch or dinner at his club, introduced him
to all his friends in terms of the highest eulogium, and
repeated over and over again the story of his heroic
action. As his own club was a military one he could not

1% THE LOST HEIR.

propose him there, but he had no difficulty in getting
friends to propose and support him for two other clubs of
good standing.

Several of the officers to whom he introduced Simcoe
had been at Benares at the time he was hurt. These he
recognized at once, and was able to chat with them of
their mutual acquaintances, and indeed surprised them by
his knowledge of matters at the station that they would
hardly have thought would be known to one who had
made but a short stay there. One of them said as much,
but Simcoe said, laughing, " You forget that I was laid up
for a month. Everyone was very good to me, and I had
generally one or two men sitting with me. and the amount
of gossip I picked up about the station was wonderful.
Of course there was nothing else to talk about; and as I
have a good memory, I think I could tell you something
about the private affairs of pretty nearly every civilian
and military man on the station."

Everyone agreed that Simcoe was a very pleasant and
amusing companion. He was full of anecdotes of the
wild people that he had lived among and of the adven-
tures and escapes he had gone through. Although none
of the Benares friends of the General recognized Simcoe
when they first met him, they speedily recalled his fea-
tures. His instant recognition of them, his acquaintance
with persons and scenes at and around Benares was such
that they never for a moment doubted his identity, and as
their remembrance of the General's visitor returned they
even wondered that their recognition of him had not been
as instant as his of them. As to his means, not even to
the General had Simcoe explained his exact position. He
had taken good apartments in Jermyn Street, gave excel-
lent little dinners there, kept undeniably good wine and
equally excellent cigars, dressed well, and was regarded as
being a thoroughly good fellow.

The General was not a close observer. Had he been so,
he would speedily have noticed that his niece, although
always polite and courteous' to Mr. Simcoe, did not receive
him with the warmth and pleasure with which she

JOHN SIMCOE. 13

greeted those who were her favorites. On his part the
visitor spared no pains to make himself agreeable to her;
he would at once volunteer to execute any commission for
her if she happened to mention in his presence anything
that she wanted. One evening when she was going to a
ball he sent her an expensive bouquet of flowers. The
next day when she saw him she said:

"I am very much obliged to you for those lovely
flowers, and I carried the bouquet last night, but please do
not send any more. I don't think that it is quite nice to
accept presents from anyone except very near relations.
It was very kind of you to think of it, but I would really
rather that you did not do it again. Uncle gives me carte
blanche in the way of flowers, but I do not avail myself of
it very largely, for the scent is apt to make me feel faint,
and beyond the smallest spray I seldom carry any. I
made an exception last night, for those you sent me were
most lovely. You don't mind my saying that, do
you?"

" Not at all, Miss Covington; and I quite understand
what you mean. It seemed natural to me to send you
some flowers. Out in the Pacific Islands, especially at
Samoa and Tahiti, and, indeed, more or less everywhere,
women wear a profusion of flowers in their hair, and no
present is so acceptable to them."

" I fancy flowers do not cost so much there as they do
here, Mr. Simcoe ? "

" No," the latter laughed; " for half a dollar one can
get enough to render a girl the envy of all others."

" I think you were right to ask Mr. Simcoe not to re-
peat his present, Hilda," the General said. "I particu-
larly noticed the bouquet that you carried last night."

" Yes, uncle, there was nothing equal to it in the room;
it must have cost three or four guineas."

"I don't think that you quite like him; do you,
Hilda?"

" I like him, uncle, because he saved your life; but in
other respects I do not know that I do like him particu-

?4 THE LOST HEIR.

larly. He is very pleasant and very amusing, but I don't
feel that I quite understand him."

" How do you mean that you don't understand him? "

" I cannot quite explain, uncle. To begin with, I don't
seem to get any nearer to him — I mean to what he really
is. I know more of his adventures and his life than I
did, but I know no more of him himself than I did three
months ago when I first met him at dinner."

" At any rate you know that he is brave," the General
said, somewhat gravely.

" Yes, I know that, of course; but a man can be brave,
exceptionally brave, and yet not possess all other good
qualities. He did behave like a hero in your case, and I
need not say that I feel deeply grateful to him for the
service that he rendered you; still, that is the only side of
his nature that I feel certain about."

" Pooh! pooh! Hilda," the General said, with some irri-
tation. " What do you know about nine-tenths of the
men you meet? You cannot even tell that they are
brave."

" No, uncle; I know only the side they choose to present
to me, which is a pleasant side, and I do not care to know
more. But it is different in this case. Mr. Simcoe is
here nearly every day; he has become one of our inner
circle; you are naturally deeply interested in him, and I
am, therefore, interested in him also, and want to know
more of him than I have got to know. He is brave and
pleasant; is he also honest and honorable? Is he a man
of thoroughly good principles? We know what he tells
us of his life and his adventures, but he only tells us what
he chooses."

The General shrugged his shoulders.

" My dear child, you may say the same thing of pretty
nearly every unmarried man you meet. When a man
marries and sets up a household one does get to know
something about him. There are his wife's relations,
who, as a rule, speak with much frankness concerning a
man who has married their daughter, sister, or cousin.
But as to bachelors, as a rule one has to take them at their

JOHN SIMCOE. ± ?5

own valuation. Of course, I know no more than you do
as to whether Simcoe is in all respects an honorable gen-
tleman. It is quite sufficient that he saved my life, almost
at the sacrifice of his own, and whatever the life he may
have led since is no business of mine. He is distinctly
popular among those I have introduced him to, and is not
likely in any way to discredit that introduction."

That Hilda was not entirely satisfied was evident by the
letter she wrote when her uncle had, as usual, gone up
one afternoon to his club.

" My Dear Netta: I have told you several times about
the Mr. Simcoe who saved uncle's life out in India, and
who is so intimate at the house. I can't say that either
my acquaintance with or my liking for him increases.
He does not stand the test of the system, and the more I
watch his lips the less I understand him. He talks
fluently and quickly, and yet somehow I feel that there is
a hesitation in his speech, and that his lips are repeating
what they have learned, and not speaking spontaneously.
You know that we have noticed the same thing among
those who have learned to speak by the system but are not
yet perfect in it, so I need not explain further what I
mean, as you will understand it. For example, I can al-
ways tell at a public' meeting, or when listening to a
preacher, whether he is speaking absolutely extemporarily
or whether he has learned his speech by heart beforehand.

" I really strongly misdoubt the man. Of course I
know that he saved my uncle's life; beyond that I know
nothing of him, and it is this very feeling that I do know
nothing that disquiets me. I can no more see into him
than I can into a stone wall. I can quite understand that
it is of very great importance to him to stand well with
the General. He came here a stranger with a queer his-
tory. He knew no one; he had money and wanted to get
into society. Through my uncle he has done so; he has
been elected to two clubs, has made a great number of ac-
quaintances, goes to the Eow, the Koyal Academy, the
theaters, and so on, and is, at any rate, on nodding terms

16 THE LOST HEIR.

•with a very large number of people. All this he owes to
my ancle, and I fail to see what else he can wish for. It
"would be natural with so many other engagements that he
should not come to us so often as he used to do, but there
is no falling off in that respect. He is the tame cat of the
establishment. I dare say you think me silly to worry
over such a thing, but I can't help wording. I hate
things I don't understand, and I don't understand this
man.

" Another thing is, Walter does not like him. He
constantly brings the child toys, but "Walter does not take
to him, refuses absolutely to sit upon his knee, or to be
petted by him in any way. I always think that it is a bad
sign when a child won't take to a man. However. I will
not bother you more about it now; I will keep him out of
my letters as much as I can. I wish I could keep him
out of my mind also. As I tell myself over and over
again, he is nothing to me, and whether he possesses all
the virtues or none of them is, or at any rate should be, a
matter of indifference to me. I can't help wishing that
you had come over here two months later, then I should
have had the benefit of your advice and opinion, for you
know, ISTetta, how accustomed I was for years to consider
you almost, if not quite, infallible."

CHAPTER VII.

JOHN SIMCOE'S ERIEND.

There. was a great sensation among the frequenters of
the house in Elephant Court when they were told that
Wilkinson had sold the business, and the new proprietor,
would come in at once. The feeling among those who
were in his debt was one of absolute dismay, for it seemed
to them certain the amounts would be at once called in.
To their surprise and relief Wilkinson went round among
the foreigners, whose debts in no case exceeded five
pounds, and handed to them their notes of hand.

" I am going out of the business," he said, " and shall
be leaving for abroad in a day or so. I might, of course,
have arranged with the new man for him to take over
these papers, but he might not be as easy as I have been,
and I should not like any of you to get into trouble. I
have never pressed anyone since I have been here, still
less taken anyone into court, and I should like to leave on
friendly terms with all. So here are your papers; tear
them up, and don't be fools enough to borrow again."

Towards his English clients, whose debts were generally
from ten to twenty pounds, he took the same course, add-
•ing a little good advice as to dropping billiards and play
altogether and making a fresh start.

" You have had a sharp lesson," he said, " and I know
that you have been on thorns for the last year. I wanted
to show you what folly it was to place yourself in the.
power of anyone to ruin you, and I fancy I have suc-J
ceeded very well. There is no harm in a game of billiardsl
now and then, but if you cannot play without betting you'
had better cut it altogether. As for the tables, it is
6imply madness. You must lose in the long run, and I

77

18 THE LOST HEIR.

am quite sure that I have got out of you several times the
amount of the I. 0. U.'s that I hold."

Never were men more surprised and more relieved.
They could hardly believe that they were once more free
men, and until a fresh set of players had succeeded them
the billiard rooms were frequently almost deserted. To
Dawkins Wilkinson was somewhat more explicit.

" You know/' he said, " the interest I took in that will
of General Mathieson. It was not the will so much as the
man that I was so interested in. It showed me that he
was most liberally di^porocl to those who had done him a
service. Now, it happens that years ago, when he was at
Benares, 1 saved his life from a Bger, and got mauled
myself in doing so. I had not thought of the matter for
many years, but your mention of his name recalled it to
me. I had another name in those days — men often
change their names when they knock about in queer
places, as I have done. However, I called upon him, and
he expressed himself most grateful. I need not say that
I did not mention the billiard room to him. He natu-
rally supposed that I had just arrived from abroad, and
he has offered to introduce me to many of his friends; and
I think that I have a good chance of being put down in
his will for a decent sum. I brought money home with
me from abroad and have made a goodish sum here, so
I shall resume my proper name and go West, and drop this
affair altogether. I am not likely to come against any of
the crew here, and, as you see," and he removed a false
beard and whiskers from his face, " I have shaved, though
I got this hair to wear until I had finally cut the court.
So you see you have unintentionally done me a consider-
able service, and in return I shall say nothing about that
fifty pounds you owe me. Now, lad, try and keep your-
self straight in future. You may not get out of another
scrape as you have out of this. All I ask is that you will
not mention what I have told you to anyone else. There
is no fear of my being recognized, with a clean-shaven
face and different toggery altogether, but at any rate it is
as well that evervone but yourself should believe that, aa

JOHN SIMCOE'S FRIEND. 79

I have given out, I have gone abroad again. I shall keep
your I. 0. XL's, but I promise you that you shall hear no
more of them as long as you hold your tongue as to what
I have just told you. Possibly I may some day need your
assistance, and in that case shall know where to write to
you."

It was not until after a great deal of thought that John
Simeoe had determined thus far to take Dawkins into his
confidence, but he concluded at last that it was the safest
thing to do. He was, as he knew, often sent by the firm
with any communications that they might have to make
to their clients, and should he meet him at the General's
he might recognize him and give him some trouble. He
had made no secret that he had turned his hand to many
callings, and that his doings in the southern seas would
not always bear close investigation, and the fact that he
had once kept a billiard room could do him no special
harm. As to the will, Dawkins certainly would not ven-
ture to own that he had repeated outside what had been
done in the office. The man might be useful to him in
the future. It was more than probable he would again
involve himself in debt, and was just the weak and empty-
headed young fellow who might be made a convenient
tool should he require one.

So Elephant Court knew Mr. Wilkinson no more, and
certainly none of the habitues could have recognized him
in the smooth-shaven and faultlessly dressed man whom
they might meet coming out of a West End club. Daw-
kins often turned the matter over in his mind, after his
first relief had passed at finding the debt that had weighed
so heavily upon him perfectly wiped out.

" There ought to be money in it," he said to himself,
" but I don't see where it comes in. In the first place I
could not say he had kept a gambling place without ac-
knowledging that I had often been there, and I could not
say that it was a conversation of mine tibout the General's
will that put it into his head to call upon him, and lastly,
he has me on the hip with those I. 0. U.'s. Possibly if
the General does leave him money, I may manage to get

80 THE LOST HEIB.

some out of him, though I am by no means sure of that.
He is not a safe man to meddle with, and he might cer-
tainly do me more harm than I could do him."

The matter had dropped somewhat from his mind
when, three months later, General Mathieson came into
the office to have an interview with his principals.

After he had left the managing clerk was called in.
On returning, he handed Dawkins a sheet of paper.

" You will prepare a fresh will for General Mathieson;
it is to run exactly as at present, but this legacy is to be
inserted after that to Miss Covington. It might just as
well have been put in a codicil, but the General preferred
to have it in the body of the will."

Dawkins looked at the instruction. It contained the
words: "To John Simcoe, at present residing at 132
Jermyn Street, I bequeath the sum of ten thousand
pounds, as a token of my gratitude for his heroic conduct
in saving my life at the cost of great personal injury to
himself from the grip of a tiger, in the year 1831."

" By Jove, he has done well for himself! " Dawkins mut-
tered, as he sat down to his desk after the managing
clerk had handed him the General's will from the iron box
containing papers and documents relating to his affairs.
"Ten thousand pounds! I wish I could light upon a
general in a fix of some sort, though I don't know that I
should care about a tiger. It is wonderful what luck
some men have. I ought to get something out of this, if
I could but see my way to it. Fancy the keeper of a bil-
liard room and gaming house coming in for such a haul
as this! It is disgusting! "

He set about preparing a draft of the' will, but he found
it difficult to keep his attention fixed upon his work, and
when the chief clerk ran his eye over it he looked up in
indignant surprise.

" What on earth, is the matter with you, Mr. Dawkins?
The thing is full of the most disgraceful blunders. In
several cases it is not even sense. During all the time
that I have been in this office I have never had such a dis-

JOHN SIMCOE'S FRIEND. 81

graceful piece of work come into my hands before. Why,
if the office boy had been told to make a copy of the will,
he would have done it vastly better. What does it
mean? "

" I am very sorry, sir," Dawkins said, " but I don't feel
very well to-day; and I have got such a headache that I
can scarcely see what I am writing."

" Well, well," his superior said, somewhat mollified,
" that will account for it. I thought at first that you
must have been drinking. You had better take your hat
and be off. Go to the nearest chemist and take a dose,
and then go home and lie down. You are worse than of
no use in the state that you are. I hope that you will be
all right in the morning, for we are, as you know, very
busy at present, and cannot spare a hand. Tear up that
draft and hand the will and instructions to Mr. Macleod.
The General will be down here at ten o'clock to-morrow
to see it; he is like most military men, sharp and prompt,
and when he wants a thing done he expects to have it done
at once."

" You are feeling better, I hope, this morning? " he
said, when Dawkins came into the office at the usual hour
next day, " though I must say that you look far from well.
Do you think that you are capable of work ? "
" I think so, sir; at any rate my head is better."
It was true that the clerk did not look well, for he had
had no sleep all night, but had tossed restlessly in Led,
endeavoring, but in vain, to hit on some manner of ex-
tracting a portion of the legacy from the ex-proprietor of
the gambling house. The more he thought, the more
hopeless seemed the prospect. John Simcoe was emi-
nently a. man whom it would be unsafe to anger. The
promptness and decision of his methods had gained him
at least the respect of all the frequenters of his estab-
lishment, and just as he had sternly kept order there, so
he would deal with any individual who crossed his path.
He held the best cards, too; and while a disclosure of the
past could hardly injure him seriously, he had the means

82 TEE LOST EEIB.

of causing the ruin and disgrace of Dawkins himself, if he
ventured to attack him.

The clerk was himself shrewd in his own way, but he
had the sense to feel that he was no match for John Sim-
coe, and the conclusion that he finally came to was that
he must wait and watch events, and that, so far as he
could see, his only chance of obtaining a penny of the
legacy was to follow implicitly the instructions Simcoe
had given him, in which case possibly he might receive a
present when the money was paid.

About a fortnight after he knew the will had been
signed by General Mathieson, Simcoe went down to a
small house on Pentonville Hill, where one of the ablest
criminals in London resided, passing unsuspected under
the eyes of the police in the character of a man engaged
in business in the City. A peculiar knock brought him to
the door.

"Ah, is it you, Simcoe?" he said; "why, I have not
seen you for months. I did not know you for the mo-
ment, for you have taken all the hair off your face."

" I have made a change, Harrison. I have given up
the billiard rooms, and am now a swell with lodgings in
Jermyn Street."

"That is a change! I thought you said the billiards
and cards paid well; but I suppose you have got something
better in view? "

" They did pay well, but I have a very big thing in
hand."

" That is the right line to take up," the other said.
" You were sure to get into trouble with the police about
the card-playing before long, and then the place would
have been shut up, and you might have got three months;
and when you got out the peelers would have kept their
eyes upon you, and your chances would have been at an
end. No, I have never had anything to do with small
affairs; I go in, as you know, for big things. They take
time to work out, it is true; and after all one's trouble,
something may go wrong at the last moment, and the

JOHN SIMCOE'S FRIEND. 83

thing has to be given up. Some girl who has been got at
makes a fool of herself, and gets discharged a week before
it comes off; or a lady takes it into her head to send her
jewels to a banker's, and go on to the Continent a week
earlier than she intended to do. Then there is a great
loss in getting rid of the stuff. Those sharps at Amster-
dam don't give more than a fifth of the value for dia-
monds. It is a heart-rending game, on the whole; but
there is such excitement about the life that when one has
once taken it up it is seldom indeed that one changes it,
though one knows that, sooner or later, one is sure to
make a slip and get caught. Now, what will you take?
Champagne or brandy?"

" I know that your brandy is first-rate, Harrison, and
I will sample it again."

" I have often thought," went on the other, after the
glasses had been filled and cigars lighted, " what a rum
thing it was that you should come across my brother Bill
out among the islands. He had not written to me for a
long time, and I had never expected to hear of him again.
I thought that he had gone down somehow, and had either
been eaten by sharks or killed by the natives, or shot in
some row with his mates. He was two years older than I
was, and, as I have told you, we were sons of a well-to-do
auctioneer in the country; but he was a hard man, and
we could not stand it after a time, so we made a bolt for
it. We were decently dressed when we got to London.
As we had been at a good school at home, and were both
pretty sharp, we thought that we should have no difficulty
in getting work of some sort.

" We had a hard time of it. No one would take us
without a character, so we got lower and lower, till we
got to know some boys who took us to what was called a
thieves' kitchen — a place where boys were trained as pick-
pockets. The old fellow who kept it saw that we were fit
for higher game than was usual, and instead of being sent
out to pick up what we could get in the streets we were
dressed as we had been before, and sent to picture-
galleries and museums and cricket matches, and we soon

84 THE LOST HEIR.

became first-rate hands, and did well. In a short time
we didn't see why we should work for another man, and
we left him without saying good-by.

" It was not long before he paid us out. He knew that
we should go on at the same work, and dressed up two or
three of his boys and sent them to these places, and one
day when Bill was just pocketing a watch at Lord's one of
these boys shouted out, ' Thief! thief! That boy has
stolen your watch, sir,' and Bill got three months, though
the boy could not appear against him, for I followed him
after they had nabbed Bill, and pretty nearly killed him.

" Then I went on my travels, and was away two or three
years from London. Bill had been out and in again
twice; he was too rash altogether. I took him away with
me, but I soon found that it would not do, and that it
would soon end in our both being shut up. So I put it
fairly to him.

" ' We are good friends, you know, Bill,' I said, ' but it
is plain to me that we can't work together with advan-
tage. You are twenty and I am eighteen, but, as you
have often said yourself, I have got the best head of the
two. I am tired of this sort of work. When we get a
gold ticker, worth perhaps twenty pounds, we can't get
above two for it, and it is the same with everything else.
It is not good enough. We have been away from London
so long that old Isaacs must have forgotten all about us.
I have not been copped yet, and as I have got about
twenty pounds in my pocket I can take lodgings as a young
chap who has come up to walk the hospitals, or some-
thing of that sort. If you like to live with me, quiet, we
will work together; if not, it is best that we should each
go our own way — always being friends, you know.'

" Bill said that was fair enough, but that he liked a
little life and to spend his money freely when he got it.
So we separated. Bill got two more convictions, and the
last time it was a case of transportation. We had agreed
between ourselves that if either of us got into trouble the
other should call once a month at the house of a woman
we knew to ask for letters, and I did that regularly after

JOHN SIMCOE'S FRIEm^ 85

he was sent out. I got a few letters from him. The first
was written after he had made his escape. He told me
that he intended to stay out there — it was a jolly life, and
a free one, I expect. Pens and paper were not common
where he was; anyhow he only wrote once a year or so,
and it was two years since I had heard from him when you
wrote and said you had brought me a message from Bill.

" Ever since we parted I have gone on the same line,
only I. have worked carefully. I was not a bad-looking
chap, and hadn't much difficulty in getting over servant
girls and finding out where things were to be had, so I
gradually got on. For years now I have only carried on
big affairs, working the thing up and always employing
other hands to carry the job out. None of them know
me here. I meet them at quiet pubs and arrange things
there, and I need hardly say that I am so disguised that
none of the fellows who follow my orders would know me
again if they met me in the street. I could retire if I
liked, and live in a villa and keep my carriage. Why, I
made five thousand pounds as my share of that bullion
robbery between London and Brussels. But I know that
I should be miserable without anything to do; as it is, I
unite amusement with business. I sometimes take a stall
at the Opera, and occasionally I find a diamond necklace
in my pocket when I get home. I know well enough that
it is foolish, but when I see a thing that I need only put
out my hand to have, my old habit is too strong for me.
Then I often walk into swell entertainments. You have
only to be well got up, and to go rather late, so that the
hostess has given up expecting arrivals and is occupied
with her guests, and the flunky takes your hat without
question, and you go upstairs and mix with the people.
In that way you get to know as to the women who have
the finest jewels, and have no difficulty in finding out
their names. I have got hold of some very good things
that way, but though there would have been no difficulty
in taking some of them at the time, I never yielded to that
temptation. In a crowded room one never can say whose
eyes may happen to be looking in your direction.

86 Til hi LOST HEIR.

" I wonder tnat you never turned your thoughts tnat
way. From what you have told me of your doings abroad,
I know that you are not squeamish in your ideas, and with
your appearance you ought to be able to go anywhere
without suspicion."

" I am certainly not squeamish," Simcoe said, " but I
have not had the training. One wants a little practice
and to begin young, as you did, to try that game on.
However, just at present I have a matter in hand that will
set me up for life if it turns out well, but I shall want a
little assistance. In the first place I want to get hold of
a man who could make one up well, and who, if I gave him
a portrait, could turn me out so like the original that any-
one who had only seen him casually would take me for
him."

" There is a man down in Whitechapel who is the best
hand in London at that sort of thing. He is a downright
artist. Several times when I have had particular jobs in
hand, inquiries I could not trust anyone else to make, I
have been to him, and when he has done with me and I
have looked in the glass there was not the slightest re-
semblance to my own face in it. I suppose the man you
want to represent is somewhere about your own height?"

"Yes, I should say that he is as nearly as may be the
same. He is an older man than I am."

" Oh, that is nothing! He could make you look eighty
if you wanted it. Here is the man's address; his usual
fee is a guinea, but, as you want to be got up to resemble
someone else, he might charge you double."

" The fee is nothing," Simcoe said. " Then again, I
may want to get hold of a man who is a good hand at imi-
tating handwriting."

" That is easy enough. Here is the address of a man
who does little jobs for me sometimes, and is, I think, the
best hand at it in England. You see, sometimes there is
in a house where you intend to operate some confound-
edly active and officious fellow — a butler or a footman —
who might interrupt proceedings. His master is in Lon-
don, and he receives a note from him ordering him to

JOHN SIMCOE'S FRIEND. 87

come up to town with a dressing case, portmanteau, guns,
or something of that kind, as may be suitable to the case.
I got a countess out of the way once by a messenger arriv-
ing on horseback with a line from her husband, saying
that he had met with an accident in the hunting-field, and
begging her to come to him. Of course I have always
previously managed to get specimens of handwriting, and
my man imitates them so well that they have never once
failed in their action. I will give you a line to him, say-
ing that you are a friend of mine. He knows me under
the name of Sinclair. As a stranger you would hardly
get him to act."

" Of course, he is thoroughly trustworthy? " Simcoe
asked.

" I should not employ him if he were not," the other
said. " He was a writing-master at one time, but took to
drink, and went altogether to the bad. He is always more
or less drunk now, and you had better go to him before
ten o'clock in the morning. I don't say that he will be
quite sober, but he will be less drunk than he will be later.
As soon as he begins to write he pulls himself together.
He puts a watchmaker's glass in his eye and closely ex-
amines the writing that he has to imitate, writes a few
lines to accustom himself to it, and then writes what he
is told to do as quickly and as easily as if it were his own
handwriting. He hands it over, takes his fee, which is
two guineas, and then goes out to a public-house, and I
don't believe that the next day he has the slightest re-
membrance of what he has written."

" Thank you very much, Harrison; I think that, with
the assistance of these two men, I shall be able to work
the matter I have in hand without fear of a hitch."

" Anything else I can do for you? You know that you
can rely upon me, Simcoe. You were with poor Bill for
six years, and you stood by him to the last, when the
natives rose and massacred the whites, and you got Bill
off, and if he did die afterwards of his wounds, anyhow
you did your best to save him. So if I can help you t will
*<■> it, whatever it is, short of murder, and there is my

88 THE LOST HEIR.

hand on it. You know in any case I could not round on
you."

" I will tell you the whole business, Harrison. I have
thought the matter pretty well out, hut I shall be very
glad to have your opinion on it, and with your head you
are like to see the thing in a clearer light than I can, and
may suggest a way out of some difficulties."

He then unfolded the details of his scheme.

" Very good! " the other said admiringly, when he had
finished. " It does credit to you, Simcoe. You risked
your life, and, as you say, very nearly lost it to save the
General's, and have some sort of a right to have his
money when he has done with it. Your plan of imper-
sonating the General and getting another lawyer to draw
out a fresh will is a capital one; and as you have a list. of
the bequests he made in his old one, you will not only be
able to strengthen the last will, but will disarm the oppo-
sition of those who would have benefited by the first, as
no one will suffer by the change. But how about the
boy?"

" The boy must be got out of the way somehow."

" Not by foul play, I hope, Simcoe. I could not go
with you there."

" Certainly not. That idea never entered my mind;
but surely there can be no difficulty in carrying off a child
of that age. It only wants two to do that: one to engage
the nurse in talk, the other to entice the child away, pop
him into a cab waiting hard by, and drive off with him."

" I doubt whether the courts would hand over the prop-
erty unless they had some absolute proof that the child
was dead."

" They would not do so for some time, no doubt, but
evidence might be manufactured. At any rate I could
wait. They would probably carry out all the other pro-
visions of the will, and with the ton thousand pounds and
the three or four thousand I have saved I could hold on
for a good many years."

" How about the signature to the will? "

" I can manage that much," Simcoe said. " I had some

JOHN SIMCOE'S FRIEND. 89

"s

work in that way years ago, and I have been for the last
three months practicing the General's, and I think now
that I can defy any expert to detect the difference. Of
course, it is a very different thing learning to imitate a
signature and writing a long letter."

The other agreed, and added, " I should be careful to
employ a firm of lawyers of long standing. If you were
to go to shady people it would in itself cause suspicion."

" Yes, I quite feel that, and I want, if possible, to get
hold of people who just know the General by sight, so as
to have a fairly good idea of his face without knowing
him too well. I think I know of one. At the club the
other day Colonel Bulstrode, a friend of the General's,
said to him, ' I wish you would drive round with me to my
lawyers '; their place is in the Temple. I want someone
to sign as a witness to a deed, and as it is rather impor-
tant, I would rather have it witnessed by a friend than by
one of the clerks. It won't take you a minute.' "

" I should think that would do very well; they would
not be likely to notice iiim very particularly, and prob-
ably the General would not have spoken at all. He would
just have seen his friend sign the deed, and then have
affixed his own signature as a witness. Well, everything
seems in your favor, and should you need any help you
can rely upon me."

CHAPTER VIII.

GENERAL MATHIESON'S SEIZURE.

Three months later John Simcoe called for a letter
directed to " Mr. Jackson, care of William Scriven, To-
bacconist, Fetter Lane." The address was in his own
handwriting. He carried it home before opening it.
The writing was rough and the spelling villainous.

" Samoa.
"It Dear Jack: I was mitely glad when the old brig
came in and Captain Jephson handed me a letter from
you, and as you may guess still more pleased to find with
it an order for fifty pounds. It was good and harty of
you, but you alius was the right sort. I have dun as you
asked me; I went to the wich man and for twelve bottles
of rum he gave me the packet inclosed of the stuff he uses.
There aint much of it, but it is mitely strong. About as
much as will lie on the end of a knife will make a man
foam at the mouth and fall into convulsions, three times
as much as that will kill him outrite. He says there aint
no taste in it. I hope this will suit your purpus. You
will be sorry to hear that Long Peter has been wiped out;
he was spered by a native, who thort Pete wanted to run
away with his wife, wich I don't believe he did for she
wernt no way a beuty. Vigors is in a bad way; he has had
the shakes bad twice and I don't think that he can last
much longer. Trade is bad here, but now I have got the
rino I shall buy another cocoanut plantation and two or
three more wives to work it, and shall be comfortible. I
am a pore hand with the pen, so no more from your friend,

" Ben Stokes."

9tt

0BJSERAL MATHIESON'8 SEIZURE. 91

A week later Hilda wrote to her friend:

" My Deab Netta: I am writing in great distltes.
Three days ago uncle had a terrible fit. He was seized
with it at the club, and I hear that his struggles were
dreadful. It was a sort of convulsion. He was sensible
when he was brought home, but very weak; he does not
remember anything about it. Fortunately, Dr. Pearson,
who always attends us, was one of the party, and he sent
off cabs for two others. Dr. Pearson came home with
him. Of course I asked him what it was, and he said that
it was a very unusual case, and that he and the other doc-
tors had not yet come to any decision upon it, as none of
them had ever seen one precisely like it. He said that
some of the symptoms were those of an epileptic fit, but
the convulsions were so violent that they rather resembled
tetanus than an ordinary fit. Altogether he seemed
greatly puzzled, and he would give no opinion as to
whether it was likely to recur. Uncle is better to-day;
he told me that he, Mr. Simcoe, and four others had been
dining together. He had just drunk his coffee when the
room seemed to swim round, and he remembered nothing
more until he found himself in bed at home. Mr. Simcoe
came home with him, and the doctor said, I must acknowl-
edge, that no one could have been kinder than he was.
He looked quite ill from the shock that he had had. But
still I don't like him, Netta; in fact, I think I dislike him
more and more every day. I often tell myself that I have
not a shadow of reason for doing so, but I can't help it.
You may call it prejudice: I call it instinct.

" You can well imagine how all this has shocked me.
Uncle seemed so strong and well that I have always
thought he would live to a great age. He is sixty-eight,
but I am sure he looks ten years younger — at least he did
so; at present he might be ninety. But I can only hope
that the change is temporary, and that he will soon be his
dear self again. The three doctors are going to have a
meeting here to-morrow. I shall be anxious, indeed, to
hear the result. I hope that they will order him a change,

92 TEE LOST EEIR.

and that wc can go down together, either to his place or
mine; then I can always be with him, whereas here he goes
his way and I go mine, and except at meal-times we
scarcely meet. If he does go I shall try and persuade him
to engage a medical man to go with us. Of course, I do
not know whether a doctor could be of any actual use in
case of another attack, but it would be a great comfort to
have one always at hand."

The letter stopped here, and was continued on the fol-
lowing evening.

" The consultation is over; Dr. Pearson had a long talk
with me afterwards. He said that it was without doubt
an epileptic fit, but that it differed in many respects from
the general type of that malady, and that all of them were
to some extent puzzled. They had brought with them a
fourth doctor, Sir Henry Havercourt, who is the greatest
authority on such maladies. He had seen uncle, and
asked him a few questions, and had a talk with Dr. Pear-
son, and had from him a minute account of the seizure.
He pronounced it a most interesting and, as far as he
knew, a unique case, and expressed a wish to come as a
friend to see how the General was getting on. Of course
he inquired about his habits, asked what he had had for
dinner, and so on.

" ' The great point, Dr. Pearson,' I said, after the con-
sultation was over, ' is, of course, whether there is likely
to be any recurrence of the attack.' ' That is more than
I can say,' he answered gravely; ' at present he can hardly
be said to have recovered altogether from the effects of
this one, which is in itself an unusual feature in the case.
As a rule, when a person recovers from an epileptic fit he
recovers altogether — that is to say. he is able to walk and
talk as before, and his face shews little or no sign of the
struggle that he has undergone. In this case the re-
covery is not altogether complete. You may have noticed
that his voice is not only weak, but there is a certain hesi-
tation in it. His face has not altogether recovered its

GENERAL MAl'HIESON'8 SEIZURE. 93

natural expression, and is slightly, very slightly, drawn
on one side, which would seem to point to paralysis; while
in other respects the attack was as unlike a paralytic
stroke as it could well have been. Thus, you see, it is
difficult in the extreme for us to give any positive opinion
concerning a case which is so entirely an exceptional one.
We can only hope for the best, and trust to the strength
of his constitution. At any rate, we all agree that he
needs absolute quiet and very simple and plain diet. You
see, he has been a great diner-out; and though an ab-
stemious man in the way of drinking, he thoroughly ap-
preciates a good dinner. All this must be given up, at
any rate for a time. I should say that as soon as he is a
little stronger, you had better take him down into the
country. Let him see as few visitors as possible, and only;
very intimate friends. I do not mean that he should be
lonely or left to himself; on the contrary, quiet com-
panionship and talk are desirable.'

" I said that though the country might be best for him,
there was no medical man within three miles of his place,
and it would be terrible were we to have an attack, and
not know what to do for it. He said that he doubted if
anything could be done when he was in such a state as he
was the other night, beyond sprinkling his face with
water, and that he himself felt powerless in the case of an
attack that was altogether beyond his experience. Of
course he said it was out of the question that I should be
down there alone with him, but that I must take down an
experienced nurse. He strongly recommended that she
should not wear hospital uniform, as this would be a
constant reminder of "his illness.

" I said that I should very much like to have a medical
man in the house. Money was no object, and it seemed
to me from what he said that it would also be desirable
that, besides being a skillful doctor, he should be also a
pleasant and agreeable man, who would be a cheerful com-
panion to him as well as a medical attendant.

" He agreed that this would certainly be very desirable,
and that he and the others were all anxious that the case

94 THE LOST HEIR.

should be watched very carefully. He said that he would
think the matter over, and that if he could not find just
the man that would suit, he would ask Sir Henry Haver-
court to recommend us one.

" He said there were many clever young men to whom
such an engagement for a few months would be a godsend.
He intended to run down himself once a fortnight, from
Saturday until Monday, which he could do, as his practice
was to a large extent a consulting one. I could see plainly
enough that though he evidently put as good a face upon
it as he could, he and the other doctors took by no means
a hopeful view of the case.

" It is all most dreadful, Netta, and I can hardly realize
that only three days ago everything was bright and happy,
while now it seems that everything is uncertain and dark.
There was one thing the doctor said that pleased me, and
that was, ' Don't let any of his town friends in to see him;
and I think that it would be as well that none of them
should go down to visit him in the country. Let him be
kept altogether free from anything that would in the
smallest degree excite him or set his brain working.' I
told him that no one had seen him yet, and that I would
take good care that no one should see him; and I need
hardly tell you that Mr. Simcoe will be the first person to
be informed of the doctor's orders."

A week later General Mathieson came downstairs for
the first time. The change in him was even greater than
it had seemed to be when he was. Lying on the sofa in his
room; and Tom Eoberts, who had been the General's
soldier-servant .years before, and had been in his service
since he left the army, had difficulty in restraining his
tears as he entered, with his master leaning heavily on his
arm.

" I am shaky, my dear Hilda, very shaky," the General
said. " I feel just as I did when I was laid up with a bad
attack of jungle fever in India. However, no doubt I
shall pick up soon, just I did then. Pearson tells me
that he and th^ others agree that I mup* go down into

JEJVEBAL MATHIESON'S SEIZURE. 95

the country, and I suppose I must obey orders. Where
is it we are to go? "

" To your own place, uncle."

"My own place?" he repeated doubtfully, and then
after a pause, " Oh, yes, of course! Oh, yes! "

There was a troubled look in his face, as if he was try-
ing to recall memories that had somehow escaped him,
and Hilda, resolutely repressing the impulse to burst into
a flood of tears, said cheerfully:

" Yes, I shall be very glad to be back at Holmwood.
We won't go down by train, uncle. Dr. Pearson does not
think that you are strong enough for that yet. He is
going to arrange for a comfortable carriage in which you
can lie down and rest. We shall make an early start. He
will arrange for horses to be sent down so that we can
change every ten or twelve miles, and arrive there early in
the afternoon. It is only seventy miles, you know."

" Yes, I have driven up from there by the coach many
a time when I was a boy, and sometimes since; have I not,
Tom?"

" Yes, General. The railway was not made till six or
seven years ago."

" No, the railway wasn't made, Hilda; at least, not all
the way."

Hilda made signs to Tom not to leave the room, and
iie stood by his master's shoulder, prompting him occa-
sionally when his memory failed him.

" You must get strong very fast, uncle, for Dr. Pear-
son said that you cannot go until you are more fit to bear
the fatigue."

"I shall soon get strong, my dear. What is to-day?"

" To-day is Friday, uncle."

" Somehow I have lost count of days," he said. " Well,
I should think that I shall be fit to go early next week; it
is not as if we were going to ride down. I was always
fond of riding, and I hope I shall soon be after the hounds
again. Let me see, what month is this? "

"It is early in June, uncle; and the country will be
looking its best."

TEE LOST EEIR.

" Yes, yes; I shall have plenty of time to get strong
before cub-hunting begins."

So the conversation dragged on for another half hour
the General s words coming slower and slower, and at the
end L of that time he dropped asleep. Hilda made a sign
to Roberts to stay with him, and then ran up to her own
room, closed the door behind her, and burst into a passion
ol tears. Presently there was a tap at the door, and her
maia came in.

'i T°^ has 3'ust sliPPed out from the dining room, miss,
and told me to tell you that the General was sleeping as
peacefully as a child, and he thought it was like enough
that he would not wake for hours. He said that when he
woke he and William would get him up to his own room "
Thank you, Lucy." The door closed again. Hilda
got up from the bed on which he had lain down, and
buried herself in the depths of a large cushioned chair,
lhere she sat thinking. For the first time she realized
how immense was the change in her uncle. She had seen
him several times each day, but he had spoken but a few
words, and it only seemed to her that he was drowsy and
disinclined to talk. Now she saw how great was the men-
talmas well as the physical weakness.

" It is terrible! " she repeated over and over again to
herself. < What a wreck— oh, what a dreadful wreck!
Will he ever get over it? "

She seemed absolutely unable to think. Sometimes
she burst into sobs, sometimes she sat with her eyes fixed
before her, but seeing nothing, and her fingers twining
restlessly round each other. Presently the door opened
very gently, and a voice said, "May I come in?" She
sprang to her. feet as if electrified,' while a glad cry of
"Netta! " broke from her lips. A moment later the two
girls were clasped in a close embrace.

" Oh, Netta, how good of you! " Hilda said, after she

had sobbed for some time on her friend's shoulder. " Oh

what a relief it is to me! " '

" Of course I have come, you foolish girl. You did not

suppose I was going to remain away after your letter?

GENERAL MATHIESON'S SEIZURE. 97

Aunt is with me; she is downstairs, tidying herself up.
We shut up the house and left the gardener in charge, and
here we are, as long as you want us."

" But your pupils, Netta? "

" I handed them all over to another of the Professor's
assistants, so we need not bother about them. I told aunt
that I should not be down for an hour. Mrs. Brown is
looking after her, and getting her a cup of tea, and I
asked her to bring two cups up here. I thought that you
would prefer for us to have a chat by ourselves. Now tell
me all about it, dear; that is, if there is anything fresh
since you wrote."

Hilda told her the doctor's opinion and the plans that
had been formed.

" Dr. Pearson brought a Dr. Leeds here with him this
morning. He says he is very clever. His term as house-
surgeon at Guy's or St. Bartholomew's, I forget which,
has just expired, and as he had not made any definite
plans he was glad to accept the doctor's offer to take
charge of my uncle. He seemed, from what little I saw
of him, a pleasant man, and spoke in a cheerful voice,
which will be a great thing for uncle. I should think
that he is six or seven and twenty. Dr. Pearson said he
was likel3r to become a very distinguished man in his pro-
fession some day. He is going to begin at once. He will
not sleep here, but will spend most of his time here, partly
because he wants to study the case, and partly because
he wants uncle to get accustomed to him. He will travel
down with us, which will be a great comfort to me, for
there is no saying how uncle may stand the journey. I
suggested that we should have another carriage, as the
invalid carriage has room for only one inside besides the
patient, but he laughed, and said that he would ride on
the box with Tom Roberts; there will be room for two
there, as we are going to post down. Of course, you and
your aunt will go down by train, and be there to meet us;
it will make it so much brighter and more cheerful hav-
ing you to receive us than if we had to arrive all alone,
with no one to say welcome."

98 THE LOST HEIR

" And is your uncle so very weak? "

" Terribly weak — weak both mentally and physically/'
and she gave an account of the interview that afternoon.

" That is bad indeed, Hilda; worse than I had expected.
But with country air, and you and me to amuse him, to
say nothing of the doctor, we may hope that he will soon
be a very different man."

" Well, I will not stay talking here any longer, Netta;
we have left your aunt half an hour alone, and if she were
not the kindest soul in the world, she would feel hurt at
being so neglected, after coming all this way for my sake.
You don't know what good your coming has effected.
Before you opened the door I was in the depth of despair;
everything seemed shaken, everything looked hopeless.
There seemed to have been a sort of moral earthquake
that had turned everything in my life topsy-turvy, but
now I feel hopeful again. With you by my side I think
that I can bear even the worst."

They went down to the drawing room, where they
found Mrs. Brown, the housekeeper, having a long gos-
sip over what had taken place with Miss Purcell, whom,
although a stranger, she was unaffectedly glad to see, as it
seemed to take some of her responsibilities off her shoul-
ders, and she knew that ISTetta's society would be invalu-
able to Hilda.

It was not until a week later that, after another con-
sultation, the doctors agreed that it was as well that the
General should be moved down to his country place. Dr.
Pearson was opinion that there was some improvement,
but that it was very slight; the others could see no change
since they had seen him ten days before. However, they
agreed with their colleague that although there might be
a certain amount of danger in moving him to the country,
it was best to risk that, as the change might possibly bene-
fit him materially.

" Have you formed any opinion of the case, Dr.
Leeds? " Sir Henry asked.

" I can scarcely be said to have any distinct opinion,
Sir Henry. The symptoms do not tally with those one

GENERAL MATIIIESON'S SEIZURE. 99

would expect to find after any ordinary sort of seizure,
although certainly they would point to paralysis rather
than epilepsy. I should, had the case come before me in
the ordinary way in the ward of a hospital, have come to
the conclusion that the seizure itself and the after-effects
pointed rather to the administration of some drug than to
any other cause. I admit that I am not acquainted with
any drug whose administration would lead to any such
results; but then I know of no other manner in which they
could be brought about save by some lesion of a blood
vessel in the brain of so unusual a character that no such
case has hitherto been reported in any work with which I
am acquainted. This, I say, would be my first theory in
the case of a patient of whose previous history I was en-
tirely unaware, and who came under my charge in a hos-
pital ward; but I admit that in the present case it cannot
te entertained for a moment, and I must, during my at-
tendance upon General Mathieson, watch closely for
symptoms that would aid me in localizing brain lesion or
other cause."

He spoke modestly and quietly in the presence, as he
was, of some of the leading men of his profession. The
theory he had enunciated had not occurred to any of them,
but, as he spoke, they all recognized that, the symptoms
might under other circumstances have led them to a simi-
lar conclusion. They were silent for a minute when he
ceased speaking, then Sir Henry said gravely:

" I admit, Dr. Leeds, that some of the symptoms, in-
deed the fit itself, might in the case of a patient of whose
history we were ignorant seem to point to some obscure
form of poisoning, since they do not accord with what
one would expect in ordinary forms of brain seizures of
this kind. However, there is no doubt that we are all
somewhat prone, when we meet with a case possessing un-
usual or altogether exceptional features, to fall back upon
the theory of poisoning. In this case, fortunately, the
circumstances are such as to preclude the possibility of
entertaining the idea for a moment; and, as you say, you
must endeavor to find, watching him as you will do, some

100 TEE LOST EEIR.

other cause of what I admit is a mysterious and obscure
case; and knowing you as I do, I am sure that you will
mention this theory, even as a theory, to no one.

"We are all aware that there are many cases which
come before us where we may entertain suspicions, and
strong suspicions, that the patient has been poisoned, and
yet we dare not take any steps because, in the first place,
we have no clew as to how or by whom he or she has been
poisoned, and because, if after death an autopsy should
prove that we were mistaken, it would be nothing short
of professional ruin. Here, as you said, the theory is
happily irreconcilable with the circumstances of the case,
and no drug known to European science would produce so
strange a seizure or the after-effects. Of course, as we all
know, on the west coast of Africa, and it is believed in
India, the natives are acquainted with poisons which are
wholly unknown, and will probably remain unknown,
since medical men who have endeavored to investigate
the matter have almost always fallen victims themselves
to poisons administered by the people whose secrets they
were endeavoring to discover.

"However, we can happily put that altogether aside.
Dr. Pearson tells us that he intends to go down once a
fortnight, and has promised to furnish us with the results
of his own observations, and his own reports of this very
interesting case. If General Mathieson had, in the course
of his military career, ever been struck in the head by a
bullet, I should say unhesitatingly that some splinter, pos-
sibly very minute, had obtruded into the brain matter;
but this has, I learn, not been the case. The only serious
injury that he has ever received was when he was terribly
torn and nearly killed by a tiger some twenty years ago in
India. It may be useful to you, Dr. Leeds, to keep this in
your mind. There can be no doubt that scratches and
bites, even of the domestic cat, occasionally give rise to
violent inflammations, and probably, indeed I believe it to
be the ease, those of the great cats of India are still more
poisonous. As is the case with the bite of a mad dog, the
poison may in some cases remain latent for a considerable

GENERAL MATEIESON'S SEIZURE. 101

time, until some circumstance may arouse it into activity.
I would suggest that should any scars caused at that time
remain, you should examine them carefully, and ascertain
whether there is any sign of inflammatory action there.
I grant the improbability of any consequences arising so
many years after the event, but at the same time in a case
of this kind, where we are perfectly at a loss to explain
what we see, it is as well to look for the cause in every
direction, however improbable it may appear."

" Thank }tou, Sir Henry; I will certainly do so. I was
not aware before of the General having suffered such an
injury, and I will go this afternoon and spend a few hours
in looking through the medical works at the library of the
India Office to see if there are any records of serious dis-
turbance caused in the system by wounds inflicted by
tigers a considerable time after they have apparently
healed."

The meeting then broke up, and two days later Gen-
eral Mathieson was taken down to his seat in Warwick-
shire. Post horses were in readiness all along the road,
and the journey was accomplished quickly and without
fatigue to the patient, who slept the greater part of the
distance. At each change Dr. Leeds got down and had
two or three minutes' talk with Hilda, and when the Gen-
eral was awake gave him a spoonful of restorative medi-
cine. His presence close at hand was a great comfort to
Hilda, upon whom the strain of watching her uncle was
very great, and she was thankful indeed when they ar-
rived at the end of the journey, and found Netta and her
aunt, who had gone down by that morning's train together
with the housekeeper and her own maid, waiting on the
:steps to receive them.

CHAPTEE IX.

A STRANGE ILLNESS.

Foe three months General Mathieson remained in the
country. His improvement was very gradual — so gradual,
indeed^ that from week to week it was scarce noticeable,
and it was only by looking back that it was perceptible.
At the end of that time he could walk unaided, there was
less hesitation in his speech, and his memory was dis-
tinctly clearer. He passed much of his time on a sofa
placed in the shade in the garden, with Hilda and Netta
sitting by him, working and talking.

Netta had always been a favorite of his from the time
that he first met her in Hanover; and he had, when she
was staying with his niece the year before, offered her a
very handsome salary if she would remain with her as her
companion. The girl, however, was reluctant to give up
her occupation, of which she was very fond, still less
would she leave her aunt; and although the General would
willingly have engaged the latter also as an inmate of the
house, to act as a sort of chaperon to Hilda when she
drove out alone shopping, Netta refused in both their
names.

" You would not have left the army, General, what-
ever temptations might have been held out to you. I am
happy in thinking that I am doing good and useful work,
and I don't think that any offer, even one so kind and
liberal as yours, would induce me to relinquish it."

Her presence now was not only an inestimable comfort
to Hilda, but of great advantage to the General himself.
Alone Hilda would have found it next to impossible to
keep the invalid interested and amused. He liked to talk
and be talked to, but it was like the work of entertaining
£.. child. Netta, however, had an inexhaustible furd of
102

A STRANGE ILLNESS. 103

good spirits. After her long intercourse with children
who needed entertainment with instruction, and whose
attention it was absolutely necessary to keep fixed, she
had no difficulty in keeping the conversation going, and
her anecdotes, connected with her life in Germany and
the children she had taught, were just suited to the Gen-
eral's mental condition.

Little Walter was of great assistance to her. He had
come down with his nurse as soon as they were fairly
settled at Holmwood, and his prattle and play were a
great amusement to his grandfather. Whenever the con-
versation flagged Netta offered to tell him a story, which
not only kept him quiet, but was listened to with as much
interest by the General as by the child. Dr. Leeds was
often a member of the party, and his cheery talk always
had its effect in soothing the General when, as was some-
times the case, he was inclined to be petulant and irritable.

They had been a fortnight at Holmwood before the
doctor discovered Netta's infirmity. She happened to be
standing at a window with her back to him when he asked
her a question. Eeceiving no reply, he repeated it in a
louder tone, but he was still unanswered. Somewhat sur-
prised, he went up to her and touched her; she faced
round immediately.

" Were you speaking to me, Dr. Leeds? "

" Yes, I spoke to you twice, Miss Purcell, but you did
not hear me."

" I have been perfectly deaf from childhood." she said;
" I cannot hear any sound whatever. I never talk about
it; people ask questions and wonder, and then, forgetting
fhat I do not hear, they persist in addressing me in loud
tones."

" Is it possible that you are deaf? "

" It is a melancholy fact," she said with a smile, and
then added more seriously, " It came on after measles.
When I was eight years old my good aunt, who had taken
me to some of the best aurists in London, happened to
hear that a Professor Menzel had opened an establishment
in Hanover for teaching deaf mutes to speak by a new sys-

104 THE LOST HEIR.

tern of watching people's lips. She took me uver there,
and, as you see, the result was an undoubted success, and
I now earn my living by acting as one of the professor's
assistants, and by teaching two or three little girls who
board at my aunt's."

" The system must be an admirable one indeed," the
doctor said. " I have, of course, heard of it, but could
not have believed that the results were so excellent. It
never entered my mind for a moment that you were in
any way deficient in hearing, still less that you were per-
fectly deaf. I have noticed that, more than is common,
you always kept your eyes fixed on my face when I was
speaking to you."

" You would have noticed it earlier had we been often
ilone together," she said, " for unless I had kept my eyes
always upon you I should not have known when you were
speaking; but when, as here, there are always several of
us together, my eyes are at once directed to your face
when you speak, by seeing the others look at you."

" Is" it necessary to be quite close to you when one
speaks? "

" Oh, not at all! Of course I must be near enough to
be able to see distinctly the motion of the lips, say at
twenty yards. It is a great amusement to me as I walk
about, for I can see what is being said by people on the
other side of the road, or passing by in a vehicle. Of
coi rse one only gets scraps of conversations, but some-
times they are very funny."

" You must be quite a dangerous person, Miss Purcell."

" I am," she laughed; " and you must be careful not to
say things that you don't want to be overheard when you
are within reach of my eyes. Yesterday, for instance,
you said to Hilda that my aunt seemed a wonderfully
kind and intelligent old lady: and you were good enough
to add some complimentary remarks about myself."

Dr. Leeds flushed.

" Well, I should not have said them in your hearing,
Miss Purcell; but. as they were complimentary, no harm
was done. I think I said that you were invaluable here,

A STRANGE ILLNESS. 1 05

which is certainly the case, for I really do not know how
we should be able to amuse our patient if it were not for
your assistance."

" Hilda and I had a laugh about it/' Netta said; " and
she said, too, that it was not fair your being kept in the
dark as to our accomplishment."

"'Our accomplishment!' he repeated in surprise.
"Do you mean to say that Miss Covington is deaf also?
But no, that is impossible; for I called to her yesterday,
when her back was turned, and the General wanted her,
and she answered immediately."

" My tongue has run too fast," the girl said, " but I
don't suppose she would mind your knowing what she
never speaks of herself. She was, as you know, living
with us in Hanover for more than four years. She tem-
porarily lost her hearing after an attack of scarlet fever,
and the doctors who. were consulted here feared that it
might be permanent. Her father and mother, hearing
of Dr. Hartwig as having the reputation of being the first
aurist in Europe, took her out to him. He held out hopes
that she could be cured, and recommended that she should
be placed in Professor Menzel's institution as soon as she
could understand German, so that, in case a cure was not
effected, she might be able to hear with her eyes. By
great good fortune he recommended that she should live
with my ' aunt, partly because she spoke English, and
portly because, as I was already able to talk, I could act
as her companion and instructor both in the system and
in German.

" In three years she could get on as well as I could, but
the need for it happily passed away, as her hearing was
gradually restored. Still, she continued to live with us
while her education went on at the best school in the
town, but of course she always talked with me as I talked
with her, and so she kept up the accomplishment and has
done so ever since. But her mother advised her very
strongly to keep the knowledge of her ability to read
people's words from their lips a profound secret, as it
might tend to her disadvantage; for people might be

10* THE LOST HEIR.

afraid oi" a girl possessed of the faculty of overhearing
their conversation at a distance."

" That explains what rather puzzled me the other day,"
the doctor said. " When I came out into the garden you
were sitting together and were laughing and talking.
You did not notice me, and it struck me as strange that,
while I heard the laughing, I did not hear the sound of
your voices until I was within a few paces of you. When
Miss Covington noticed me I at once heard your voices."

" Yes, you gave us both quite a start, and Hilda said
we must either give up talking silently or let you into our
secret; so I don't think that she will be vexed when I tell
her that I have let it out."

" I am glad to have the matter explained," he said, " for
really I asked myself whether I must not have been tem-
porarily deaf, and should have thought it was so had I
not heard the laughing as distinctly as usual. I came to
the conclusion that you must, for some reason or other,
have dropped your voices to a whisper, and that one or
the other was telling some important secret that you did
not wish even the winds to hear."

" J think that this is the only secret that we have,"
Netta laughed.

" Seriously, this is most interesting to me as a doctor,
and it is a thousand pities that a system that acts so ad-
mirably should not be introduced into this country. You
should set up a similar institution here, Miss Purcell."

" I have been thinking of doing so some day. Hilda
is always urging me to it, but I feel that I am too young
yet to take the head of an establishment, but in another
four or five years' time I shall think seriously abou/ it."

" I can introduce you to all the aurists in London, Miss
Purcell, and I am sure that you will soon get as many
inmates as you may choose to take. In cases where their
own skill fails altogether, they would be delighted to com-
fort parents by telling them how their children may learn
to dispense altogether with the sense of hearing."

" Not quite altogether," she said. " It has happened
very often, as it did just now, that I have been addressed

A STBAXGE ILLNESb. *07

by someone at whom I did not happen to be looking, and
then I have to explain my apparent rudeness by owning
myself to be entirely deaf. Unfortunately, I have not
always been able to make people believe it, and I have
several times been soundly rated by strangers for endeav-
oring to excuse my rudeness by a palpable falsehood."

" Eeally, I am hardly surprised," Dr. Leeds said, " for
I should myself have found it difficult to believe that one
altogether deaf could have been taught to join in con-
versation as you do. Well, I must be very careful what I
say in future" while in the society of two young ladies pos-
sessed of such dangerous and exceptional powers."

" You need not be afraid, doctor; I feel sure that there
is no one here to whom you would venture to give us a
bad character."

" I think," he went on more seriously, " that Miss Cov-
ington's mother was very wise in warning her against her
letting anyone know that she could read conversations at
a distance. People would certainly be afraid of her, for
gossipmongers woxild be convinced that she was overhear-
ing, if I may use the word, what was said, if she happened
to look at them only casually."

At the end of three months the General became rest-
less, and was constantly expressing a wish to be brought
back to London.

"What do you think yourself, Dr. Leeds?" Dr. Pear-
son said, when he paid one of his usual visits.

" He is, of course, a great deal better than he was when
he first came down," the former replied, " but there is still
that curious hesitation in his speech, as if he was suffer-
ing from partial paralysis. I am not surprised at his
wanting to get up to town again. As he improves in
health he naturally feels more and more the loss of bis
usual course of life. I should certainly have advised his
remaining here until he had made a good deal further^ ad-
vancement, but as he has set his mind upon it, I believe
that more harm would be done by refusing than by his
going. In fact, I think that he has, if anything, gone

101 TEE LOST HEIR.

"back in the last fortnight, and above all things it is neces-
sary to avoid any course that might cause irritation, and
so set up fresh brain disturbances."

" I am quite of your opinion, Leeds. I have noticed
myself that he hesitates more than he did a short time
skre, and sometimes, instead of joining in the conversa-
tion, he sits moody and silent; and he is beginning to re-
sent being looked after and checked."

" Yes; he said to me the other day quite angrily, ' I
don't want to be treated as a child or a helpless invalid,
doctor. I took a mile walk yesterday. I am beginning
to feel quite myself again; it will do me a world of good to
be back in London, and to drive down to the club and to
have a chat with my old friends again.' "

" Well, I think it best that he should not be thwarted.
You have looked at the scars from time to time, I sup-
pose?"

" Yes; there has been no change in them, they are very
red, but he tells me — and what is more to the point, his
man tells me — that they have always been so."

"What do you think, Leeds? Will he ever be himself
again? Watching the case from day to day as you have
done, your opinion is worth a good deal more than mine."

" I bave not the slightest hope of it," the young doctor
replied quie'tly. " I have seen as complete wrecks as he is
gradually pull themselves round again, but they have
been cases where they have been the victims of drink
or of some malady from which they had been restored
by a successful operation. In his case we have failed
altogether to determine the cause of his attack, or
the nature of it. We have been feeling in the dark,
and hitherto have failed to discover a clew that we
could follow up. So far there has been no recurrence
of his first seizure, but, with returning strength and re-
turning brain work, it is in my opinion more than likely
that we shall have another recurrence of it. The shock
has been a tremendous one to the system. Were he a
younger man he might have rallied from it, but I doubt
wheth*"- at his age he will ever get over it. Actually he

A STBANGE ILLNESS. 109

is, I believe, under seventy; physically and mentally, he
is ninety."

" That is so, and between ourselves I cannot but think
that a long continuance of his life is not to be desired. I
believe with you that he will be a confirmed invalid, re-
quiring nursing and humoring like a child, and for the
sake of Miss Covington and all around him one cannot
wish that his life should be prolonged."

" I trust that, when the end comes, Dr. Pearson, it will
be gradual and painless, and that there will be no recur-
rence of that dreadful seizure."

" I hope so indeed. I have seen many men in bad fits,
but I never saw anything to equal that. I can assure
you that several of the men who were present — men who
had gone through a dozen battles — were completely pros-
trated by it. At least half a dozen of them, men whom I
had never attended before, knowing that I had been
present, called upon me within the next two or three days
for advice, and were so evidently completely unstrung
that I ordered them an entire change of scene at once, and
recommended them to go to Homburg, take the waters,
and play at the tables; to do anything, in fact, that would
distract their minds from dwelling upon the painful scene
that they had witnessed. Had it not been for that, one
would have had no hesitation in assigning his illness to
some obscure form of paralysis; as it is, it is unaccounta-
ble. Except," he added, with a smile, " by your theory of
poison."

The younger doctor did not smile in return. " It is
the only cause that I can assign for it," he said gravely.
" The more I study the case, the more I investigate the
writings of medical men in India and on the East and
West Coast of Africa, the more it seems to me that the
attack was the work of a drug altogether unknown to Eu-
ropean science, but known to Obi women, fetich men, and
others of that class in Africa. In some of the accounts
of people accused of crime by fetich men, and given liquor
to drink, which they are told will not affect them if inno-
cent, but will kill them if guilty, I find reports of their

110 THE LOST HEIR.

being seized .vith instant and violent conviuoions similar
to those that you witnessed. These convulsions often
end in death; sometimes, where, I suppose, the dose was
larger than usual, the man drops dead in his tracks while
drinking it. Sometimes he dies in convulsions; at other
times he recovers partially and lingers on, a mere wreck,
for some months. In other cases, where, I suppose, the
dose was a light one, and the man's relatives were ready
to pay the fetich man handsomely, the recovery was
speedy and complete; that is to say, if, as is usually the
^,ase, the man was not put to death at once upon the sup-
posed proof of his guilt. By what possible means such
poison could have found its way to England, for there is
no instance of its nature being divulged to Europeans, I
know not, nor how it could have been administered; but I
own that it is still the only theory by which I can account
for the General's state. I need not say that I should
never think of giving the slightest hint to anyone but
yourself as to my opinion in the matter, and trust most
sincerely that I am mistaken; but although I have tried
my utmost I cannot overcome the conviction that the
theory is a correct one, and I think, Dr. Pearson, that if
you were to look into the accounts of the various ways in
which the poisons are sold by old negro women to those
anxious to get rid of enemies or persons whose existence
is inconvenient to them, and by the fetich men in these
ordeals, you will admit at least that had you beerl prac-
ticing on the West Coast, and any white man there had
such an attack as that through which the General has
pasted, you would without hesitation have put it down to
poison by some negro who had a grudge against him."

" No doubt, no doubt," the other doctor admitted;
"but, you see, we are not on the West Coast. These
poisons are, as you admit, absolutely unobtainable by
white men from the men and women who prepare them.
If obtainable, when would they have been brought here,
and by whom? And lastly, by whom administered, and
from what motive? I admit all that you say about the
African poisons. I lately had a long talk about them with

A STRANG E ILLNESS. 211

a medical man who had been on the coast for four 01 five
years, but until these other questions can be answered I
must refuse to believe that this similarity is more than
accidental, and in any possible way due to the same cause."

" That is what I have told myself scores of times, and it
would be a relief to me indeed could I find some other
explanation of the matter. Then, you think that he had
better come up to London?"

" I leave the matter in your hands, Dr. Leeds. I would
give him a few days longer and try the effect of a slight
sedative; possibly his desire to get up to town may die
out. If so, he is without doubt better here. If, however,
you see that his irritation increases, and he becomes more
and more set upon it, by all means take him up. How
would you do so ? By rail or road ? "

" Certainly by rail. I have been trying to make him
feel that he is a free agent, and encouraged him in the be-
lief that he is stronger and better. If then I say to him,
' My dear General, you are, of course, free to do as you
like, and it may be that the change will be beneficial to
you; if the ladies can be ready to-morrow, let us start with-
out further delay,' I consider it quite possible that this
ready and cheerful acquiescence may result in his no
longer desiring it. One knows that in this respect sick
people are very like fractious children. They set their
minds on some special article of food, as a child does on a
toy, and when it comes they will refuse to touch it, as the
child will throw the coveted toy down."

It turned out so in this case. The moment the C4en-
eral found that the doctor was willing that he should go
up to town, and the ladies quite ready to accompany him
at once, he himself began to raise objections.

" Perhaps it would be as well that we should wait an-
other month," he replied. A little pretended opposition
strengthened this view, and the return was postponed.
Ai the end of the month he had made so much progress
that, when the longing for London was again expressed,
.eeds offered no opposition, and two days later the
whole party went up.

CHAPTER X.

TWO HEAVY BLOWS.

During the four months that General Mathieson had
remained at Holmwood no one had been more constant in
his inquiries as to his health than Mr. Simcoe. He had
seen Hilda before she started, and had begged her to let
him have a line once a week, saying how her uncle was
going on.

" I will get Dr. Leeds to write," she said. " My own
opinion will be worth nothing, but his will be valuable.
I am afraid that he will find time hang heavily on his
hands, and he will not mind writing. I do not like writ-
ing letters at the best of times, but in the trouble we are
in now I am sure that I shall not be equal to it."

Dr. Leeds willingly undertook the duty of sending a
short weekly bulletin, not only to Mr. Simcoe, but to a
dozen other intimate friends.

" It is not half an hour's work," he said, when Netta
offered to relieve him by addressing the envelopes or copy-
ing out his report; " very few words will be sufficient.

* The General has made some slight progress this week,'
or ' The General remains in very much the same state,' or

* I am glad to be able to record some slight improvement.'
That, with my signature, will be quite sufficient, and when
I said that half an hour would be enough I exaggerated:
I fancy that it will be all done in five minutes."

Mr. Simcoe occasionally wrote a few lines of thanks,
but scarcely a day passed that he did not send some little
present for the invalid — a bunch of the finest grapes, a
few choice peaches, and other fruit from abroad. Of
flowers they had plenty in their own conservatories at
Holmwood, while game was abundant, for both from
neighbors and from club friends they received so large a
lis

TWO HEAVY BLOWS. 113

quantity that a considerable proportion was sent back in
hampers to the London hospitals.

Some of Mr. Simcoe's presents were of a different de-
scription. Among them was a machine that would hold
a book at any angle desired, while at the same time there
was a shelf upon which a cup or tumbler, a spare book or
newspaper, could be placed.

" At any rate, Hilda, this Mr. Simcoe of yours is very
thoughtful and kind towards your uncle," Netta said.

" Yes," Hilda admitted reluctantly, " he certainly is
rery thoughtful, but I would much rather he did not send
things. We can get anything we want from Warwick or
Leamington, or indeed from London, merely by sending a
line or a telegram. One hates being under obligations to
a man one does not like."

" It seems to me at present that you are unjust, Hilda;
and I certainly look forward to seeing him in London and
drawing my own conclusions."

" Yes, no doubt you will see him, and often enough
too," Hilda said pettishly. " Of course, if uncle means
to go to his club, it will be impossible to say that he is un-
fit to see his friends at home."

Netta, however, did not see Mr. Simcoe on their return,
for Dr. Leeds, on the suggestion of Hilda, stated in his
last report that the General would be going up to town in
a day or two, but that he strongly deprecated any visits
until he could, see how the invalid stood the journey.

There was no doubt that he stood it badly. Just at
first the excitement seemed to inspire him with strength,
but this soon died away, and he had to be helped from the
railway carriage to the brougham, and lifted out when he
arrived at home. Dr. Leeds saw to his being carried up-
stairs, undressed, and put to bed.

" He is weaker than I thought," he said in reply to
Hilda's anxious look when he joined the party downstairs.
" I cannot say that it is want of physical strength, for he
has walked over a mile several times without apparent
fatigue. It seems to me that it is rather failure of will
power, or brain power, if you like. I noticed that he very

114 THE LOST HEIR.

frequently sat looking out of the window, and it is pos-
sible that the succession of objects passing rapidly before
the eye has had the same effect of inducing giddiness that
waltzing has to one unaccustomed to it. I trust that to-
morrow the effect will have passed off. I had, as you
know, intended to sleep at a friend's chambers to-night;
but 1 should not think of doing so now, but will sit up
with him. I will get Eoberts to take watch and watch
with me. I can lie down on the sofa, and he can wake me
should there be any change. I sent him off in a cab, as
soon as we got your uncle into bed, to fetch Dr. Pearson;
if he is at home, he will be here in a few minutes."

It was, however, half an hour before Dr. Pearson came,
as he was out when the cab arrived. He had on the way
learned from Tom Eoberts the state in which the General
had arrived, and he hurried upstairs at once to his room.

" So he has broken down badly, Leeds? "

" Very badly."

" I did not expect it. When I saw him last Sunday he
seemed to have made so much progress that I thought
there could be no harm in his being brought up to Lon-
don, though, as I said to you, I thought it would be better
to dissuade him from going to his club. He might see
a few of his friends and have a quiet chat with them here.
His pulse is still much fuller than I should have expected
from the account his man gave of him. There is a good
deal of irregularity, but that has been the case ever since
the attack."

" I think that it is mental rather than bodily collapse,"
the younger man said. " A sudden failure of brain power.
He was absolutely unable to make any effort to walk, or
indeed to move hisjimbs at all. It was a sort of mental
paralysis."

" And to some slight extent bodily also," Dr. Pearson
said, leaning over the bed and examining the patient
closely. " Do you see there is a slight, but distinct, con-
tortion of the face, just as there was after that fit? "

" I see there is. He has not spoken since we lifted him
from fcne railway carriage, and I am afraid that to-morrow

TWO HEAVY BLOWS. 115

we shall find that he has lost, partially or entirel}1-, the
power of speech. I fear that this is the beginning of the
end."

Dr. Pearson nodded.

" There can be little doubt of it, nor could we wish it
to be otherwise. Still, he may linger for weeks or even
months."

Hilda read the doctor's opinion in his face when he
went downstairs.

" Oh, doctor, don't say he is going to die! " she cried.

" I do not say that he is going to die at once, my dear.
He may live for some time yet, but it is of no use conceal-
ing from you that- neither Dr. Leeds nor myself have the
slightest hope of his ultimate recovery. There can be
no doubt that paralysis is creeping over him, and that it
is most unlikely that he will ever leave his bed again.

" Yes, I know it is hard, dear," he said soothingly, as
she burst into tears, " but much as you will regret his loss
you cannot but feel that it is beofc so. He could never
have been himself again, never have enjoyed his life.
There would have been an ever-present anxiety and a
dread of a recurrence of that fit. You will see in time
that it is better for him and for you that it should be as it
is, although, of course, you can hardly see that just at
present. And now I must leave you to vour kind friends
here."

Miss Purcell knew well enough that just at present
words of consolation would be thrown away, and that it
was a time only for silent sympathy, and her gentle words
and the warm pressure of Netta's hand did more to re-
store Hilda's composure than any repetition of the doc-
tor's well-meant assurance that all was for the best
could do.

" Would you like me to write a line in your name to
Colonel Bulstrode?" she asked.

"No, no!" Hilda cried; "it would look as if we had
made up your minds that uncle was going to die. If he
were conscious it would be different; for I know that
Colonel ^ulstrode is his greatest friend and is named one

116 THE LOST HEIR.

of his trustees, and uncle might want to talk to him. Oh,
how one wishes at a time like this that one had a brother,
or that he had a son alive, or that there was someone who
would naturally step in and take everything into his
hands f»

" There are his lawyers," Miss Purcell suggested.

" Yes, I did not think of them. Mr. Pettigrew is the
other trustee, and is, I know, joint guardian with me of
Walter. I am sorry now that we did not leave the dear
little fellow down at Holmwood, it will be so sad and dull
for him here, and he would have been very happy in the
country. But perhaps it is best as it is; if my uncle re-
covers consciousness he is sure, to ask for him. He had
come to be very fond of him, and Walter has been so
much with him lately."

" Yes, his eyes always used to follow the child about in
his play," Miss Purcell said. " I think it is best that he
should be here, and as the nursery is at the top of the
house he will not be in anyone's way."

There was but little change in General Mathieson's
condition next morning, although a slight movement,
when Hilda spoke to him, showed that he was dimly con-
scious of her presence, and when she brought the child
down and he laid his hand on that of the General, and
said " Good-morning, grandfather," according to his cus-
tom, he opened his eyes for a moment, and there was a
slight movement of the lips, as if he were trying to speak.

" Thank you, Miss Covington," Dr. Leeds said; " the
experiment was worth making, and it proves that his
state of unconsciousness is not complete."

Walter always took his dinner with the others when
they lunched.

"Where is the child?" Hilda asked the footman;
" have you sent him up to tell nurse that lunch is ready? "

" I have not sent up, miss, because nurse has not come
back with him from his walk."

" No doubt she will be back in a few minutes," Hilda
said. " She is very punctual; I never knew her late
before/'

TWO HEAVY BLOWS, 117

Luncn was half over when Tom Roberta came in with
a scared expression on his usually somewhat stolid face.

" If you please, miss, nurse wishes to speak to you."

" "What is the matter, Roberts? " Hilda exclaimed,
starting up. " Has Walter met with an accident? "

" Well, no, miss, not as I know of, but nurse has come
home, and she is just like a wild thing; somehow or other
Master Walter has got lost."

Hilda, followed by Xetta and Miss Furcell, ran out into
the hall. The nurse, a woman of two or three and thirty,
the daughter of one of the General's tenants, and who
had been in charge of the child since he arrived a baby
from India, was sitting on a chair, sobbing bitterly. Her
bonnet hung down at the back of her head, her hair was
unloosed, and she had evidently been running wildly to
and fro. Her appearance at once disarmed Hilda, who
said soothingly:

" How has it happened, nurse? Stop crying and tell us.
I am sure that it could not have been your fault, for you
are always so careful with him. There is no occasion to
be so terribly upset. Of course he will soon be found.
The first policeman who sees him will be sure to take him
to the station. Now how did it happen?"

" I was walking along Queen's Boad, miss," the woman
said between her sobs, " and Master Walter was close be-
side me. I know that special, because we had just passed
a crossing, and I took hold of his hand as we went over —
when a man — he looked like a respectable working-man —
came up to me and said, * I see you are a mother, ma'am.'
'Not at all,' said I; 'how dare you say such a thing? I
am a nurse; I am in charge of this young gentleman/
' Well,' said he, ' I can see that you have a kind heart, any-
how; that is what made me speak to you. I am a car-
penter, I am, and I have been out of work for months, and
I have a child at home just about this one's age. He is
starving, and I haven't a bit to put in his mouth. The
parish buried my wife three weeks ago, and I am well-
nigh mad. Would you give me the money to buy him a
loaf of bread? ' The man was in such distress, miss, that

118 THE LOST HEIR.

I took out my purse and gave him a shilling, and thankful
he was; he was all but crying, and could not say enough
to thank me. Then I turned to take hold of Walter's
hand, and found that the child had gone. I could not
have been more than two or three minutes talking;
though it always does take me a long time to take my
purse out of my pocket, still I know that it could not have
been three minutes altogether.

" First of all, I went back to the crossing, and looked
up and down the street, but he wasn't there; then I
thought that perhaps he had walked on, and was hiding
for fun in a shop doorway. When I could not see him up
or down I got regular frighted, and ran up and down like
a mad thing. Once I came back as far as the house, but
there were no signs of him, and I knew that he could not
have got as far as this, even if he had run all the way.
Then I thought of the mews, and I ran hack there. Mas-
ter Walter was very fond of horses, and he generally
stopped when we got to the entrance of the mews, and
stood looking for a minute or two at the grooms cleaning
the horses, and I thought that he might have gone fa
there. There were two or three men about, but none had
seen the child. Still I ran on, and looked into several
stables, a-calling for him all the time. When he wasn t
there, I went well-nigh stark mad, and I ran up and down
the afreets asking everyone I met had they seen a child.
Tl;en I came back here to tell you."

- Te shall soon hear of him, nurse. Eoberts, do you
and William start out at once. Go first to the police
station and give notice that the child is missing— he can-
not have wandered far— and then do you and James go
aU round the neighborhood and tell every policeman that
you meet what has happened. You can ask in all the
shops in Queen's Eoad and the streets near; he may have
wandered into one of them, and as he was alone, they may
have kept him until someone came to inquire after him.
Now, Netta, will you put on your bonnet and come out
with me?"

" Shall I come with you too, Hilda?

TWO HEAVY BLOWS. 119

" No, thank you, Miss Purcell. In the first place we
shall walk too fast for you, and in the second it would be
as well for you to be here to comfort him if he is brought
back while we are out. We will come every half-hour to
hear if there is news of him. You had better go upstairs
and make yourself tidy, nurse, and then you can come
out and join in the hunt. But you look so utterly worn
out and exhausted that I think perhaps you had better sit
quiet for a time; you may be sure that it will not be long
before some of us bring him back.

" I could not sit still, Miss Covington," the woman said.
"I will just run upstairs and put myself straight, and
then go out again."

" Try and calm yourself, nurse, or you will be taken for
a madwoman; you certainly looked like one when you
came in."

Two minutes later Hilda and her friend started.

" Let us go first into Kensington Gardens, Netta; he
often went there to play, and if he came down into the
main road, he would very likely wander in. It is probable
that nurse ma.y have been longer speaking to that man
than she thinks, and that he had time to get a good way
before she missed him."

The gardens were thoroughly searched, and the park-
keepers questioned, but there were no signs of "Walter.
Then they called at the house to see whether there was
any news of him. Finding that there was not, they again;
went out. They had no real hopes of finding him now,
for Hilda was convinced that he was not in any of the
streets near. Had he been, either the nurse or the men
would have found him.

" He has, no doubt, been either taken by some kind- ,
hearted person who has found him lost," she said, "and
who has either given notice to the police, or he has been
taken by them to the police station. Still, it relieves one
to walk about; it would be impossible to sit quiet, doing
nothing. The others will have searched all the streets
near, and we had better go up the Edgware Road, search in
that direction, and give notice to any policemen we find.''

120 THE LOST EEIL.

But the afternoon went on and no news was received of
the missing child. It was a relief to them when Dr.
Leeds, who had gone off watch for a few hours at twelve
o'clock, returned. He looked grave for a moment when
he heard the news, but said cheerfully, " It is very annoy-
ing, Miss Covington, but you need not alarm yourself;
Walter is bound to turn up."

" But he ought to have been sent to the police station
long before this," Hilda said tearfully.

" Of course he ought, if all people possessed common-
sense; unfortunately, they don't. I expect that at the
present moment he is eating bread and jam, or something
of that sort in the house of some kind-hearted old lady
who has taken him in, and the idea of informing the police
has never occurred to her for a moment, and, unfortu-
nately, may not occur for some little time. However, if
you will give me the details of his dress, I will go at once
with it to the printer's and get two or three hundred
notices struck off and sent round, to be placed in trades-
men's windows and stuck up on walls, saying that who-
ever will bring the child here will be handsomely re-
warded. This is sure to fetch him before long."

There was but little sleep that night at General Mathie-
son's. The master of the house still lay unconscious, and
from time to time Dr. Leeds came down to say a few
cheering words to the anxious girls. Tom Eoberts
walked the streets all night with the faint idea of finding
the child asleep on a doorstep, and went three times to
the police station to ask if there was any news. The first
thing in the morning Hilda went with Dr. Leeds to Scot-
land Yard, and the description of the child was at once
sent to every station in London; then she drove by her-
self to the office of Messrs. Farmer & Pettigrew, and
waited there until the latter gentleman arrived. Mr.
Pettigrew, who was a very old friend of the family, looked
very grave over the news.

" I will not conceal from you, Miss Covington," he said,
when she had finished her story, " that the affair looks to
me somewhat serious; and I am afraid that you will have

TWO HEA VF BLO Wx,. lZ\

to make ^ your mind that you may not ste che Mtle fel-
low as soon as you expect. Had he been merely lost, you
should certainly have heard of him in a few hours after
the various and, I may say, judicious steps that you have
taken. A child who loses himself in the streets of Lon-
don is morally certain to come into the hands of the police
in a very few hours."

" Then what can have become of him, Mr. Pettigrew? "
" It may be that, as not unf requently happens, the
child has been stolen for the sake of his clothes. In that
ease he will probably be heard of before very long. Or it
may be a case of blackmail. Someone, possibly an ac-
quaintance of one of the servants, may have known that
the child, as the grandson and heir of General Mathieson,
would be a valuable prize, and that, if he could be carried
off, his friends might finally be forced to pay a considerable
sum to recover him. I must say that it looks to me like
a planned thing. One of the confederates engages the
silly woman, his nurse, in a long rambling talk; the other
picks the child quietly up or entices him away to the next
corner, where he has a cab in waiting, and drives off with
him at once. However, in neither case need you fear
that the child will come to serious harm. If he has been
stolen for the sake of his clothes the woman will very
speedily turn him adrift, and he will be brought home to
you by the police in rags. If, on the other hand, he has been,
taken for the purpose of blackmail, you may be sure that
he will be well cared for, for he will, in the eyes of those
who have taken him, be a most valuable possession. In
that case you may not hear from the abductors for some
little time. They will know that, as the search continues
and no news is obtained, his friends will grow more and
more anxious, and more ready to pay handsomely for his
return. Of course it is a most annoying and unfortunate
business, but I really do not think that you have any occa-
sion to feel anxious about his safety, and it is morally cer-
tain that in timp you will have him back, safe and sound.
Now how is your uncle? I hope that he shows signs of
rallyJTi"-0 **

122 THE LOST HEIR.

" I am sorry to say there was no sign whatever of his
doing so up to eight o'clock this morning, and, indeed,
Dr. Pearson told me that he has but little hope of his
doing so. He thinks that there has been a slight shock of
paralysis. Dr. Leeds speaks a little more hopefully than
Dr. Pearson, but that is his way, and I think that he too
considers that the end is not far off."

" Your friends, Miss Purcell and her niece, are still
with you, I hope?"

" Yes; they will not leave me as long as I am in trouble.
I don't know what I should do without them, especially
now this new blow has fallen upon me."

" Well, my dear, if you receive any communication re-
specting this boy send it straight to me. I do not know
whether you are aware that you and I have been appointed
his guardians ? "

" Yes; uncle told me so months ago. But I never
thought then that he would not live till Walter came of
age, and I thought that it was a mere f orm."

" Doubtless it seemed so at the time," Mr. Pettigrew
agreed; "your uncle's was apparently an excellent life,
and he was as likely as anyone I know to have attained a
great age."

" There is nothing you can advise me to do at present? "

" Nothing whatever, besides what you have done. The
police all over London will be on the lookout for a lost
child; they will probably assume at once that he has been
stolen for his clothes, and will expect to see the child
they are in search of in rags. They will know, too, the
quarter in which he is most likely to be found. If it is
for this purpose that he has been stolen you can confi-
dently expect to have him back by to-morrow at latest;
the woman would be anxious to get rid of him without
loss of time. If the other hypothesis is correct you may
not hear for a fortnight or three weeks; the fellows in
that case will be content to bide their time."

Hilda drove back with a heavy heart. Netta herself
opened the door, and her swollen eyes at once told the
tmth.

TWO HEAVY BLOWS. 128

" Uncle is dead? " Hilda exclaimed.

" Yes, dear; he passed away half an hour ago, a few
minutes after Dr. Leeds returned. The doctor ran down,
himself for a moment, almost directly he had gone up,
and said that the General was sinking fast, and that
the end might come at any moment. Ten minutes later
he came down and told us that all was over."

CHAPTEK XL

A STARTLING WILL.

Mr. Pettigrew at once took the management of affairs
at the house in Hyde Park Gardens info his hands, as one
of the trustees, as joint guardian of the heir, and as family
solicitor. Hilda was completely prostrated by the two
blows that had so suddenly fallen, and was glad indeed
that all necessity for attending to business was taken off
her hands.

" We need not talk about the future at present," Mr.
Pettigrew said to her; " that is a matter that can be con-
sidered afterwards. You are most fortunate in having
the lady with whom you so long lived here with you, and
I trust that some permanent arrangement may be made.
In any case you could not, of course, well remain here
alone."

" I have not thought anything about it yet," she said
wearily. " Oh, I wish I were a man, Mr. Pettigrew; then
I could do something myself towards searching for
Walter, instead of being obliged to sit here uselessly."

" If you were a man, Miss Covington, you could do
nothing more at present than is being done. The police
are keeping up a most vigilant search. I have offered a
reward of five hundred pounds for any news that may
lead to the child's discovery, and notices have even been
sent to the constabularies of all the home counties, re-
questing them to make inquiries if any tramp or tramps,
accompanied by a child of about the age of our young
ward, have been seen passing along the roads. But, as I
told you when you called upon me, I have little doubt but
that it is a case of blackmail, and that it will not be long
before we hear ^f him. It is probable that the General's

124

A STARTLING WILL. 125

death has somewhat disconcerted them, and it is likely
that they may wait to see how matters go and who is the
person with whom they had best open negotiations. I
have no doubt that they are in some way or other keeping
themselves well informed of what is taking place here."

The funeral was over, the General being followed to
the gTave by a number of his military friends and com-
rades, and the blinds at the house in Hyde Park Gardens
were drawn up again. On the following morning Mr.
Pettigrew came to the house early. He was a man who
was methodical in all his doings, and very rarely ruffled.
As soon as he entered, however, Hilda saw that something
unusual had happened.

" Have you heard of Walter? " she exclaimed.

" No, my dear, but I have some strange and unpleasant
news to give you. Yesterday afternoon I received an in-
timation from Messrs. Halstead & James, saying that
they had in their possession the will of the late General
Mathieson bearing date the 16th of May of the present
year. I need not say that I was almost stupefied at the
news. The firm is one of high standing, and it is impos-
sible to suppose that any mistake has arisen; at the same
time it seemed incredible that the General should thus
have gone behind our backs, especially as it was only
three months before that we had at his request drawn out
a fresh will for him. Still, I am bound to say that such
cases are by no means rare. A man wants to make a
fresh disposition of his property, in a direction of which
he feels that his own solicitors," especially when they are
old family solicitors, will not approve, and, therefore, he
gets it done by some other firm, with the result that, at
his death, it comes like a bombshell to all concerned. I
can hardly doubt- that it is so in this case, although what
dispositions the General may have made of his property,
other than those contained in the last will we drew up, I
am unable to say. At any rate one of the firm will come
round to our office at twelve o'clock with this precious
document, and I think that it is right that you should be

126 THE LOST HEIR.

present when it is opened. You will be punctual, will you
not?"

" You can rely upon my being there a few minutes be-
fore twelve, Mr. Pettigrew. It all seems very strange. I
knew what was the general purport of my uncle's last will,
for he spoke of it to me. It was, he said, the same as the
one before it, with the exception that he had left a hand-
some legacy to the man who had saved his life from a
tiger. I was not surprised at this at all. He had taken
a very great fancy to this Mr. Simcoe, who was constantly
here, and it seemed to me only natural that he should
leave some of his money to a man who had done him so
great a service, and who, as he told me, had nearly lost
his own life in doing it."

" Quite so," the lawyer agreed; " it seemed natural to
us all. His property was large enough to permit of his
doing so without making any material difference to his
grandchild, who will come into a fine estate with large ac-
cumulations during his long minority. Now I must
be off."

There was a little council held after the lawyer had left.

" They say troubles never comes singly," Hilda re-
marked, " and certainly the adage is verified in my case."

" But we must hope that this will not be so, my dear,"
Miss Purcell said.

" It cannot be any personal trouble, aunt," for Hilda
had fallen back into her old habit of so addressing her,
i u because uncle told me that, as I was so well off, he had
only put me down for a small sum in his will, just to show
that he had not forgotten me. I feel sure that he will
have made no change in that respect, and that whatever
alteration he may have made cannot affect me in the least;
except, of course, he may have come to the conclusion
that it would be better to appoint two men as guardians
to Walter, but I hardly think that he would have done
that. However, there must be something strange about
it, or he would not have gone to another firm of solicitors.
No, I feel convinced that there is some fresh trouble at
hand"

4 STARTLING WILL. 127

The carriage drew up at the office in Lincoln's Inn at
five minutes to twelve. Mr. Pettigrew had not included
Miss Purcell and Netta in the invitation, but Hilda in-
sisted upon their coming with her. The}' were shown at
once into his private room, where some extra chairs had
been placed. Colonel Bulstrode was already there, and
Mr. Farmer joined his partner as soon as they were
seated.

" This is a most singular affair, Miss Covington," he
said, " and I need hardly say that it is a matter of great
annoyance as well as surprise to Pettigrew and myself.
Of course General Mathieson was perfectly free to go to
any other firm of solicitors, but as we have made the wills
for his family and yours for the last hundred years, as
well as conducted all their legal business, it is an unpleas-
ant shock to find that he has gone elsewhere, and I must
say that I am awaiting the reading of this will with great
curiosity, as its contents will doubtless furnish us with
the reason why he had it thus prepared."

Just at the stroke of twelve Mr. Halstead and Mr.
James were announced.

" "We thought it as well," the former said, " for us both
to come, Mr. Farmer, for we can understand your surprise
at finding that a later will than that which is doubtless in
your possession is in existence, and we are. ready to ex-
plain the whole circumstances under which it was drawn
out by us. General Mathieson came one day to our office.
He brought with him the card of Colonel Bulstrode; but
this was unnecessary, for some months ago the General
was at our office with the Colonel. He was only there
for the purpose of fixing his name as a witness to
the colonel's signature, as our client, like many others,
preferred having a personal friend to witness his signa-
ture instead of this being done by one of our clerks."

" That was so," the Colonel interjected.

" General Mathieson," Mr. Halstead went on, " was only
in our office a minute or two on that occasion, but of
course that was sufficient for us to recognize him when
he called again. He told us that he desired us to draw

128 TEE LOST EETR.

out a will, and that as he had determined to appoint Mr.
PettigTew one of his trustees and guardian to his heir,
he thought it as well to employ another firm to draw up
the will.

" We Dointed out that such a precaution was altogether
needless" when dealing with a firm like yours, and he then
said, ' I have another reason. I am making a change in
one of the provisions of the will, and I fancy that Farmer
& Pettigrew might raise an argument upon it. Here
are the instructions.' I said, ' You will permit me to
read them through, General, before giving you a decided
answer.' Had the will contained any provision that we
considered unjust we should have declined to have had
anything to do with the matter; but as it in no way di-
verted the property from the natural heir, and was, as
far as we could see, a just and reasonable one, we saw no
cause for refusing to carry out his instructions; for we
have Known, as doubtless you have known, many similar
instances, in which men, for some reason or other, have
chosen to go outside their family solicitors in matters
which they desired should remain entirely a secret until
after their death. Had General Mathieson come to us as
an altogether unknown person we should have point-blank
refuseoTto have had anything to do with the business; but
as an intimate friend of our client Colonel Bulstrode, and
as being known to us to some extent personally, we de-
cided to follow the instructions given us in writing. I will
now. with your permission, read the will."

"First let me introduce Miss Covington to you," Mr.
Farmer said. " She is the General's nearest relative, with
the exception of his grandson. These ladies are here
with her as her friends."

Mr. Halstead bowed, then broke the seals on a large
envelope, drew out a parchment, and proceeded to read it.
Messrs. Farmer & Pettigrew listened with increasing
surprise as he went on. The legacies were absolutely
identical with those in the will that they had last pre-
pared. The same trustees and guardians for the child
weTe appointed, and they were unable to understand what

A STARTLING WILL. 129

t>aa induced General Mathieson to have what was almost
a duplicate of his previous will prepared so secretly. The
last paragraph, however, enlightened them. Instead of
Hilda Covington, John Simcoe was named as heir to the
bulk of the property in the event of the decease of Walter
Kivington, his grandson, before coming of age.

Hilda gave an involuntary start as the change was an-
nounced, and the two lawyers looked at each other in dis-
may. Mr. Halstead, to whom the General had explained
his reasons for gratitude to John Simcoe, saw nothing
unusual in the provision, which indeed Avas heralded with
the words, " asmy only near relative, Hilda Covington, is
well endowed, i hereby appoint my dear friend, John Sim-
coe, my sole heir in the event of the decease of my grand-
sen, Walter Ivivington, before coming of age, in token of
my appreciation of his heroic rescue of myself from the
jaws of a tiger, in the course of which rescue he was most
seriously wounded."

When he had finished he laid down the will and looked
round.

" I hope/' he said, " that this will be satisfactory to all
parties."

" By gad, sir," Colonel Bulstrode said hotly, " I should
call this last part as unsatisfactory as possible."

'" The vail is identical," Mr. Tanner said, without
heeding the Colonel's interjection, " with the one that
Geaeral Mathieson last executed. The persons benefited
and the amounts left to them are in every case the same,
but you will understand the dismay with which we have
heard the concluding paragraph when I tell you that
General Mathieson's heir, Walter Kivington, now a child
of six or seven years old, disappeared — I think I may say
was kidnaped — on the day preceding General Mathie-
son's death, and that all efforts to discover his where-
abouts have so far been unsuccessful."

Mr. Halstead and his partner looked at each other with
dismay, even greater than that exhibited by the other
lawyers.

u Gori K\ess me[ " Mr. Halstead exclaimed. " This is a

33(1 TEE LOST HEIR.

bad business indeed — and a very strange one. Do you
think that this Mr. Simcoe can have been aware of this
provision in his favor?"

" It is likely enough that he was aware of it/' Mr. Petti-
grew said; " he was constantly in the company of General
Mathieson, and the latter, who was one of the frankest of
men, may very well have informed him; but whether he
actually did do so or not of course I cannot say. Would
you have any objection to my looking at. the written in-
structions? "

" Certainly not. I brought them with me in order
that they may be referred to as to any question that
might arise."

" It is certainly in the General's own handwriting,"
Mr. Pettigrew said, after looking at the paper. " But,
indeed, the identity of the legacies given to some twenty
or thirty persons, and of all the other provisions of the
will, including the appointment of trustees and guard-
ians, with those of the will in our possession, would
seem in itself to set the matter at rest. Were you
present yourself when the General signed it?"

" Certainly. Both Mr. James and myself were present.
I can now only express my deep regret that we acceded
to the General's request to draw up the will."

"It is unfortunate, certainly," Mr. Farmer said. "I
do not see that under the circumstances of his intro-
duction by an old client, and the fact that you had seen
him before, anyone could blame you for undertaking the
matter. Such cases are, as you said, by no means un-
usual, and I am quite sure that you would not have
undertaken it, had you considered for a moment that any
injustice was being done by its provisions."

" May I ask to whom the property was to go to by the
first will? "

" It was to go to Miss Covington. I am sure that I
can say, in her name, that under other circumstances she
would not feel in any way aggrieved at the loss of a
property she can well dispense with, especially as the
chances of that provision coming into effect were but

A STARTLING WILL. 131

small, as the child was a healthy little fellow, and in all
respects likely to live to come of age."

" I do not care in the least for myself," Hilda said
impetuously. " On the contrary, I would much rather
that it had gone to someone else. I should not have at
all liked the thought that I might benefit by Walter's
death, but I would rather that it had been left to anyone
but this man, whom I have always disliked, and whom
Walter also disliked. I cannot give any reason why. I
suppose it was an instinct, and now the instinct is justi-
fied, for I feel sure that he is at the bottom of Walter's
disappearance."

" Hush! hush! my dear young lady," Mr. Farmer said,
holding up his hand in dismay, " you must not say such
things; they are libelous in the extreme. Whatever
suspicions you may have — and I own that at present
things look awkward — you must not mention those sus-
picions until you obtain some evidence in their support.
The disappearance of the child at this moment may be a
mere coincidence— a singular one, if you like — and we
shall, of course, examine the matter to the utmost and
sift it to the bottom, but nothing must be said until we
have something to go on."

Hilda sat silent, with her lips pressed tightly together
and an expression of determination upon her face. The
other solicitors speedily left, after more expressions of
regret.

" What are we going to do next, Mr. Pettigrew? " Hilda
asked abruptly, as the door closed behind them.

" That is too difficult a matter to decide off-hand, but
after going into the whole matter with my co-trustee,
Colonel Bulstrode, with the assistance of my partner, we
shall come to some agreement as to the best course to
take. Of course we could oppose the probate of this
new will, but it does not seem to me that we have a leg
to stand upon in that respect. I have no doubt that
Halstead & James will retire altogether from llv
matter, and refuse to act further. In that case it will
be my duty, of course, to acquaint Simcoe with the pro-

132 TEE LOST HEIR.

visions of the will, and to inform him that we, as trustees,
shall not proceed to take any further steps in the matter
until the fate of Walter Eivington is ascertained, but
shall until then administer the estate in his behalf. It
will then be for him to take the next step, and he cer-
tainly will not move for some months. After a time he
will, of course, apply to the court to have it declared that
Walter Eivington, having disappeared for a long time,
there is reasonable presumption of his death. I shall
then, in your name and mine, as the child's guardians,
be heard in opposition, and I feel sure that the court
will refuse to grant the petition, especially under the
serious and most suspicious circumstances of the case.
In time Simcoe will repeat the application, and we shall
of course oppose it. In fact, I think it likely that it will
be a good many years before the court will take the step
asked, and all that time we shall be quietly making in-
quiries about this man and his antecedents, and we shall,
of course, keep up a search for the child. It may be that
his disappearance is only a coincidence, and that he has,
as we at first supposed, been stolen for the purpose of
making a heavy claim for his jeturn."

" You may be sure that I shall not rest until I find
him, Mr. Pettigrew," Hilda said. "I shall devote my
life to it. I love the child dearly; but even were he a
perfect stranger to me I would do everything in my
power, if only to prevent this man from obtaining the
proceeds of his villainy/'

Mr. Farmer again interposed.

" My dear Miss Covington/' he said, " you really must
not speak like this. Of course, with us it is perfectly
safe. I admit that you have good reason for your in-
dignation, but you must really moderate your expres-
sions, which might cause infinite mischief were you to
use them before other people. In the eye of the law a
man is innocent until he is proved guilty, and we have
not a shadow of proof that this man has anything to
do with the child's abduction. Moreover, it might do
harm in other ways. To begin with, it might render the

A STARTLING WILL. 133

discovery of the child more difficult; for it his abductors
were aware or even suspected that you were searching in
all directions for hint, they would take all the greater
pains to conceal his hiding-place."

" I will be careful, Mr. Farmer, but I shall proceed to
have a search made at every workhouse and night refuge
and place of that sort in London, and within twenty
miles round, and issue more placards of your offer of a
reward of five hundred pounds for information. There is
no harm in that."

" Certainly not. Those are the measures that one
would naturally take in any case. Indeed, I should
already have pushed my inquiries in that direction, but
I have hitherto felt sure that had he been merely taken
for his clothes, the police would have traced him before
now; but as they have not been able to do so, that it was
a case of blackmail, and that Ave should hear very shortly
from the people that had stolen him. I sincerely trust
that this may the case, and that it will turn out that this
man Simcoe has nothing whatever to do with it. I will
come down and let you know what steps we are taking
from time to time, and learn the dire( &ons in which you
are pushing your inquiries."

Neither Miss Purcell nor Netta had spoken from the
time they had entered the room, but as soon as they took
their places in the carriage waiting for them, they burst
out.

" What an extraordinary thing, Hilda! And yet,"
Miss Purcell added, " the search for Walter may do good
in one way; it will prevent you from turning your
thoughts constantly to the past and to the loss that you
have suffered."

" If it had not been tor Walter being missing, aunt,
I should have thought nothing of uncle's appointing Mr.
Simcoe as heir to his property if anything should happen
to him. This man had obtained an extraordinary in-
fluence over him, and there can be no doubt from uncle's
statement to me that he owed his life solely to him, and
that Simcoe indeed was seriously injured in saving him.

134 CHE LOST HEIR.

He knew that I had no occasion for the money, and have
already more than is good for a girl to have at her abso-
lute disposal; therefore I am in no way surprised that he
should have left him his estate in the event of Walter's
death. All that is quite right, and I have nothing to say
against it, except that I have always disliked the man.
It is only the extraordinary disappearance of Walter, just
at this moment, that seems to me to render it certain
that Simcoe is at the bottom of it. No one else could
have had any motive for stealing Walter, more than any
other rich man's child. His interest in his disappearance
is immense. I have no doubt uncle had told him what
he had done, and the man must have seen that his chance
of getting the estate was very small unless the child could
be put out of the way."

'• You don't think," Netta began, " that any harm can
have happened to him?"

"No, I don't think that. Whether this man would
have shrunk from it if there were no other way, I need
not ask myself; but there could have been no occasion
for it. Walter is so young that he will very soon forget
the past; he might be handed over to a gypsy and grow
up a little vagrant, and as there is no mark on him by
which he might be identified, he would be lost to us for-
ever. You see the man can afford to wait. He has doubt-
less means of his own — how large I do not know, but I
have heard my uncle say that he had handsome chambers,
and certainly he lived 'in good style. Now he will have
this legacy of ten thousand pounds, and if the court
keeps him waiting ten or fifteen years before pronounc-
ing Walter dead, he can afford to wait. Anyhow, I shall
have plenty of time in which to act, and it will require a
lot of thinking over before I decide what I had best do."

She lost no time, however, in beginning to work.
Posters offering the reward of five hundred pounds for
information of the missing boy were at once issued, and
stuck up not only in London, but in every town and
village within thirty miles. Then she obtained from
Mr. Pettigrew the name of a firm of trustworthy private

A STARTLING WILL. 135

detectives and set them to make inquiries, in the first
place at all the institutions where a lost child would be
likely to be taken if found, or where it might have been.
left by a tramp. Two days after the reading of the will
she received the following letter from John Simcoe:

" Deae Miss Covington: I have learned from Messrs.
Farmer & Pettigrew the liberal and I may say ex-
traordinary gem rosity shown towards myself by the late
General Mathieson, whose loss I most deeply deplore.
My feelings of gratitude are at the present moment over-
whelmed by the very painful position in which I find
myself. I had, of course, heard, upon calling at your
door to make inquiries, that little Walter was missing,
and was deeply grieved at the news, though not at the
time dreaming that it could affect me personally. Now,
however, the circumstances of the case are completely
changed, for, by the provisions of the will, I should ben-
efit pecuniarily by the poor child's death. I will not for
a moment permit myself to believe that he is not alive
and well, and do not doubt that you will speedily recover
him; but, until this occurs, I feel that some sort of sus-
picion must attach to me, who am the only person having
an interest in his disappearance. The thought that this
may be so is distressing to me in the extreme. Since I
heard of his disappearance I have spent the greater part
of my time in traversing the slums of London in hopes of
lighting upon him. I shall now undertake wider re-
searches, and shall to-day insert advertisements in all
the daily papers, offering one thousand pounds for his
recovery. I feel sure that you at least will not for a
moment entertain unjust suspicions concerning me, but
those who do not know me well may do so, and although
fft present none of the facts have been made public, I
feel as if I were already under a cloud, and that men in
the club look askance at me, and unless the child is
found my position will speedily become intolerable. My
only support in this trial is my consciousness of inno-
cence. You will excuse me for intruding upon your sor-

136 THE LOST HEIR.

row at the present moment, but I felt compelled to write
as I have done, and to assure you that I will use every
effort in my power to discover the child, not only for his
'own sake and yours, but because I feel that until he is
discovered I must continue to rest under the terrible, if
[unspoken, suspicion of being concerned in his disap-
pearance.

u Believe me, yours very truly,

"John Simcoe."

CHAPTER XII.

DE. LEEDS SPEAKS.

After reading John Simcoe's letter, Hilda threw iti
down with an exclamation of contempt.

" Read it ! " she said to Netta, who was alone with her.

"The letter is good enough as it stands/' Netta re-
marked, as she finished it.

" Good enough,, if coming from anyone else," Hilda'
said scornfully, " perhaps better than most men would
write, but I think that a rogue can generally express
himself better than an honest man."

" Now you are getting cynical — a new and unpleasant
phase in your character, Hilda. I have heard you say
that you do not like this man, but you have never given
me any particular reason for it, beyond, in one of your
letters, saying that it was an instinct. Now do try to
give me a more palpable reason than that. At present
it seems to be only a case of Dr. Fell. You don't like
him because you don't."

" I don't like him because from the first I distrusted
him. Personally, I had no reason to complain; on the
contrary, he has been extremely civil, and indeed willing.
to put himself out in any way to do me small services.
Then, as I told you, Walter disliked him, too, although
he was always bringing chocolates and toys for him; so
that the child's dislike must have been also a sort of
instinct. He felt, as I did, that the man was not true
and honest. He always gave me the impression of acting.
a part, and I have never been able to understand how a
man of his class could have performed so noble and
heroic an act as rushing in almost unarmed to save
another, who was almost a stranger to him. -from the grip

137

138 THE LOST HEIR.

of a tiger. So absolutely did I feel this that I have at
times even doubted whether he could be the John Simcoe
who had performed this gallant action."

"My dear Hilda, you are getting fanciful! Do you
think that your uncle was likely to be deceived in such a
matter, and that he would not have a vivid remembrance
of his preserver, even after twenty years?"

"That depends on how much he saw of him. My
uncle told me that Mr. Simcoe brought some good in-
troductions from a friend of his at Calcutta who came
out in the same ship with him. No doubt he dined at
my uncle's two or three times — he may even have stayed
a few days in the house — possibly more; but as command-
ing the district my uncle must have been fully occupied
during the day, and can have seen little of him until, I
suppose, a week or so after his arrival, when he invited
him to join in the hunt for a tiger. Although much hurt
on that occasion, Simcoe was much less injured than my
uncle, who lay between life and death for some time, and
Simcoe had left before he was well enough to see him. If
he had dined with my uncle a few times after this affair,
undoubtedly his features would have been so impressed on
him that he would have recognized him, even after twenty
years; but, as it was, he could have no particular interest
in this gentleman, and can have entertained but a hazy
recollection of his features. In fact, the General did not
recognize him when, he first called upon him, until he
had related certain details of the affair. It had always
been a sore point with my uncle that he had never had
an opportunity of thanking his preserver, who had, as he
believed, lost his life at sea before he himself was off his
sick bed, and when he heard the man's story he was
naturally anxious to welcome him with open arms, and to
do all in his power for him. I admit that this man must
either have been in Benares then, or shortly afterwards,
for he remembered various officers who were there and
little incidents of cantonment life that could, one would
think, be only known to one who had been there at the
time."

DR. LEEDS SPEAKS. 139

"±mt you say he was only there a weeK, Hilda? "

" Only a week before this tiger business; but it was a
month before he was able to travel. No doubt all the
officers there would make a good deal of a man who had
performed such a deed, and would go and sit with him
and chat to while away the hours; so that he would, in
that time, pick up a great deal of the gossip of the
station."

"Well, then, what is your theory, Hilda? The real
man, as you say, no doubt made a great many acquaint-
ances there; this man seems to have been behind the
scenes also."

" He unquestionably knew many of the officers, for
uncle told me that he recognized several men who had
been out there when he met them at the club, and went
up and addressed them by name."

" Did they know him also ? "

" No; at first none of them had any idea who he was.
But that is not surprising, for they had seen him prin-
cipally when he was greatly pulled down; and believing
him to be drowned, it would have been strange indeed
if they had recalled his face until he had mentioned who
he was."

"Well, it seems to me that you are arguing against
yourself, Hilda. Everything you say points to the fact
that this man is the John Simcoe he claims to be. If he
is not Simcoe, who can he be? "

" Ah! There you ask a question that I cannot answer."

" In fact, Hilda, you have nothing beyond the fact
that you do not like the man, and believe that he is
not the sort of man to perform an heroic and self-
sacrificing action, on behalf of this curious theory of
yours."

" That is all at present, but I mean to set myself to
work to find out more about him. If I can find out
that this man is an impostor we shall recover Walter;
if not, I doubt whether we shall ever hear of him
again."

Netta lifted her eyebrows.

140 THE LOST HEIR.

"Well, at any rate, you have plenty of time before
you, Hilda."

The next morning Dr. Leeds, who had not called for
the last three or four days, came in to say that he was
arranging a partnership with a doctor of considerable
eminence, but who was beginning to find the pressure
of work too much for him, and wanted the aid of a
younger and more active man.

" It is a chance in a thousand," he said. " I owe it
largely to the kind manner in which both Sir Henry
Havercourt and Dr. Pearson spoke to him as to my
ability. You will excuse me," he went on, after Hilda
had warmly congratulated him, " for talking of myself
before I have asked any questions, but I know that, had
you obtained any news of Walter, you would have let me
know at once."

" Certainly I should; but I have some news, and really
important news, to give you." And she related the pro-
duction of the new will and gave him the details of its
provisions.

He looked very serious.

" It is certainly an ugly outlook," he said. " I have
never seen this Simcoe, but I know from the tone in
which }'ou have spoken of him, at least two or three
times, that he is by no means a favorite of 3rours. Can
you tell me anything about him?"

" Not beyond the fact that he saved the General's life
from a tiger a great many years ago. Shortly after that
he was supposed to be lost at sea. Certainly the vessel
in which he sailed went down in a hurricane with, as
was reported, all hands. He says that he was picked up
clinging to a spar. Of his life for the twenty years fol-
lowing he has never given a very connected account, at
least as far as I know; but some of the stories that I have
heard him tell show that he led a very wild sort of life.
Sometimes he was working in a small trader among the
islands of the Pacific, and I believe he had a share in
some of these enterprises. Then he claims to have been
in the servi<*~ of a native prince somewhere up be}rond

DR. LEEDS SPEAKS. 141

Burmah, and according to his account took quite an
active part in many sanguinary wars and adventures of
all sorts."

The doctor's face grew more and more serious as she
proceeded.

" Do I gather, Miss Covington, that you do not believe
that this man is what he claims to be ? "

" Frankly that is my opinion, doctor. I own that I
have no ground whatever for my disbelief, except that
I have naturally studied the man closely. I have watched
his lips as he spoke. When he has been talking about
these adventures with savages he spoke without effort,
and I have no doubt 'whatever that he did take part in
such adventures; but when he was speaking of India, and
especially when at some of the bachelor dinners uncle
gave there were officers who had known him out there,
it was clear to me that he did not speak with the same
freedom. He weighed his words, as if afraid of making
a mistake. I believe that the man was playing a part. His
tone was genial and sometimes a little boisterous, as it
might well be on the part of a man who had been years
away from civilization; but I always thought from his
manner that all this was false. I am convinced that he
is a double-faced man. ' When he spoke I observed that
he watched in a furtive sort of way the person to whom
he was speaking, to see the effect of his words; but, above
all, I formed my opinion upon the fact that I am abso-
lutely convinced that this man could never have per-
formed the splendid action of facing a wounded tiger
unarmed for the sake of one who was, in fact, but a
casual acquaintance."

" You will excuse me if I make no comment on what
you have told me, Miss Covington. It is a matter far
too serious for any man to form a hasty opinion upon.
I myself have never seen this man, but I am content
to take your estimate of his character. One trained, as
you were for years, in the habit of closely watching faces
cannot but be a far better judge of character than those
who have not had such training. I will take two or three

142 TEE LOST HEIR.

days to think the matter over; and now will you tell
me what steps you are taking at present to discover
Walter?"

She told him of what was being done.
"Can you suggest anything else, Dr. Leeds?"
" Nothing. It seems to me that the key to the mys-
tery is m the hands of this man, and that it is there it
must be sought, though at present I can see no way in
| which the matter can be set about. When one enters
into a struggle with a man like this, one must be armed
at all points, prepared to meet craft with craft, and
above all to have a well-marked-out plan of campaign.
Now I will say good-morning. I suppose Miss Purcell
and her niece will stay on with you, at any rate for a
time?"

" For a long time, I hope," she said.
"May I ask if you. have stated the view that you have
given me to Miss Netta Purcell?"

"Yes, I have told her. She is disposed to treat it
, as an absurd fancy on my part, but if I can get anything
to go upon which will convince her that there is even a
faint possibility of my being right, she will go through
fire and water to assist me."

"I can well believe that," the doctor said. "I am
sure that she has a strong character, although so lively
and full of fun. Of course, having been thrown with
her for four months, I am able to form a very fair opinion
of her disposition."

After Dr. Leeds had left, Hilda began to build castles
for her friend.

" It would be a splendid thing for her," she said. " He
is certainly not a man to speak in the way he did unless
he thoroughly meant it. I should think that they were
just suited to each other; though it would be really a
pity that the scheme I had set my mind upon for getting
her over here as head of an institution for teaching deaf
and dumb children on Professor Menzel's plan should
come to nothing. Perhaps, though, he might be willing
that she should act as the head of such an establishment,

DR. LEEDS SPEAKS. 143

getting trained assistants from those she knows in
Hanover and giving a few hours a day herself to the gen-
eral supervision, if only for the sake of the good that
such an institution would do among, perhaps the most
unfortunate of all beings. I am quite sure that, so far,
she has no thought of such a thing. However, perhaps I
am running on too fast, and that he only means what he
said, that he admired her character. I suppose there is
no reason that because a man admires a girl's character
he should fall in love with her, and yet Netta is so bright
and cheerful, and at the same time so kind and thought-
ful, I can hardly imagine that any man, thrown with her
as he has been, could help falling in love with her."

Netta was surprised when Hilda told her that Dr. Leeds
had been inclined to view her theory seriously.

" Really, Hilda? Certainly he is not the sort of man
to be carried away by your enthusiasm, so please con-
sider all that I have said upon the subject as unspoken,
and I will stand neutral until I hear further what he
says."

" He did not say very much, I admit, Netta; but he said
that he would take the matter seriously into considera-
tion and let me know what he thinks in two or three
days."

"I am afraid that he wants to let you down gently,"
Netta said. "Well, well, don't looked vexed! I will
say no more about it until this solemn judgment is
delivered."

Netta was in the room when Dr. Leeds called, two
days later.

"'Netta is in all my counsels, Dr. Leeds," Hilda said,
" and she is, as a rule, a capital hand at keeping a secret,
though she did let mine slip out to you."

There w»as no smile on the doctor's face, and both
girls felt at once that the interview was to be a serious
one.

" I am well aware that I can speak before Miss Pur-
cell" he said, " although there are very few people be-
fore whom I would repeat what I am going to say. I

144 TEE LOST HEIR.

have two questions to ask you, Miss Covington. What is
the date of this last will of your uncle's?"

"It is dated the 16th of May."

" About a fortnight before the General's alarming
seizure ? "

Hilda bowed her head in assent. The next question
took her quite by surprise.

" Do you know whether this man Simeoe was one of
the party when the seizure took place?"

" He was, doctor. My uncle told me that he was going
to dine with him, and Dr. Pearson mentioned to me that
he was next to the General and caught him as he fell
from his chair."

Dr. Leeds got up and walked up and down the room
two or three minutes.

" I think that now things have come to the present
pass you ought to know what was the opinion that I
originally formed of General Mathieson's illness. Dr.
Pearson and Sir Henry Havercourt both differed from
me and treated my theory as a fanciful one, and without
foundation; and of course I yielded to such superior
authority, and henceforth kept my ideas to myself.
Nevertheless, during the time the General was under
my charge I failed altogether to find any theory or ex-
planation for his strange attack and subsequent state,
except that which I had first formed. It was a theory
that a medical man is always most reluctant to declare
unless he is in a position to prove it, or at least to give
some very strong reason in its favor, for a mistake would
not only cost him his reputation, but might involve him
in litigation and ruin his career altogether. But I think
that I ought to tell you what my opinion is, Miss Cov-
ington. You must not take it for more than it is worth,
namely as a theory; but it may possibly set you on a new
track and aid you in your endeavor to discover the miss-
ing child."

The surprise of the two girls increased as he continued,
after a pause:

" Ever since the day when I was first requested to act

DR. LEEDS SPEAKS. 145

as tiie General's resident medical man I have devoted a
considerable time to the study of books in which, here
and there, could be found accounts of the action of the
herbs in use among the Obi women, fetich men, and
so-called wizards on the West Coast of Africa, also in
India, and among the savage tribes of the Malay
Archipelago and the Pacific Islands. What drugs they
use has never been discovered, although many efforts
have been made to obtain a knowledge of them, both in
India and on the West Coast; but doctors have found it
necessary to abandon the attempt, several of them hav-
ing fallen victims of the jealousy of these people be-
cause of the researches they were making. But at the
least the effects of the administration of these drugs
have been frequently described, and in some respects
these correspond so closely to those noticeable in the
General's case that I say now, as I said at first, I believe
the General's illness was caused by the administration of
some drug absolutely unknown to European science."

" You think that my uncle was poisoned? " Hilda ex-
claimed in a tone of horror, while Netta started to her
feet with clenched hands and flushed face.

" I have not used the word ' poisoned/ Miss Covington,
though in fact it comes to that. It may not have been
administered with the intention of killing; it may have
been intended only to bring on a fit, which, in due time,
might have been attended by others; but the dose may
have been stronger than its administrator intended."

"And you think, Dr. Leeds — you think that it was
administered by "

" No, Miss Covington; I accuse no one. I have no
shadow of proof against anyone; but taking this illness,
with the abduction of the child, it cannot be denied that
one's suspicions must, in the first case, fall upon the
man who has profited by the crime, if crime it was. On
May 1G this will was drawn up, bequeathing the prop-
erty to a certain person. The circumstances of the will
were curious, but from what I learned from you of the
explanation given by the lawyers wbp drew it up. it

146 THE LOST HEIR.

seems fair and above-board enough. The General was
certainly greatly under the influence of this man, who
had rendered him the greatest service one man can ren-
der another, and that at the risk of his own life. There-
fore I do not consider that this will, which was, so to
speak, sprung upon you, is in itself an important link
in the chain. But when we find that twelve or fourteen
days afterwards the General was, when at table, seized
with a terrible fit of an extraordinary and mysterious
nature, and that the man who had an interest in his
death was sitting next to him, the coincidence is at least
a strange one. When, however, the General's heir is ab-
ducted, when the General is at the point of death, the
matter for the first time assumes a position of the most
extreme gravity.

"At first, like you, I thought that Walter had either
been stolen by some woman for the sake of his clothes,
or that he had been carried off by someone aware that
he was the General's heir, with a view to obtaining
a large sum of money as his ransom. Such things have
been clone before, and will, no doubt, be done again.
The first hypothesis appears to have failed altogether;
no woman who had robbed a child of his clothes would
desire to detain him for an hour longer than was
necessary. The inquiries of the police have failed al-
together; the people you have employed have ascer-
tained that neither at the workhouses of London nor in
the adjacent counties has any child at all answering to
Walter's description been left by a tramp or brought in
by the police or by someone who had found him wan-
dering about. It cannot be said that the second hy-
pothesis is also proved to be a mistaken one; the men
who took him away would be obliged to exercise the
greatest caution when opening negotiations for his re-
lease, and it might be a month or more before you heard
from them.

" Therefore, it would be unfair to this man Simcoe
to assume that he is the author of the plot until so
long a period has passed that it is morally certain that

DR. LEEDS SPEAKS. 147

the boy was not stolen for the purpose of blackmail.
However, we have the following suspicious circumstances:'
first, that, as I believe, the General was drugged by some
poison of whose nature we are ignorant beyond that we
read of very similar cases occurring among natives races
in Africa and elsewhere. Then we have the point that
no one would have had any interest in the General's
death, with the exception of the man he had named as
his heir in the event of the child's death. We know by
the man's statement that he was for many years living
among tribes where poisons of this kind are used by the
wizards and fetich men to support their authority and to
remove persons against whom they have a grudge.
Lastly, we have the crowning fact of the abduction of
the child, who stood between this man and the estates.
All this is at best mere circumstantial evidence. We do
not know for certain what caused the General's fit, we
have no proof that Simcoe had any hand in the abduc-
tion, and whatever our opinion may be, it is absolutely
necessary that we do not breathe a hint to anyone."

Hilda did not speak; the shock and the horror of the
matter were too much for her. She sat with open lips
and blanched face, looking at Dr. Leeds. Netta, how-
ever, leaped to her feet again.

" It must be so, Dr. Leeds. It does not seem to me
that there can be a shadow of doubt in the matter, and
anything that I can do to bring the truth to light I will
do, however long a time it takes me."

" Thank you, Netta," Hilda said, holding out her hand
to her friend; " as for me, I will devote my life to clear-
ing up this mystery."

" I am afraid, Miss Covington, that my engagements
henceforth will prevent my joining actively in your
search, but my advice will always be at your service, and
it may be that I shall be able to point out methods that
have not occurred to you."

"But, oh, Dr. Leeds!" Hilda exclaimed suddenly; "if
this villain poisoned my uncle, surely he will not hesitate
to put Walter out of his path."

148 THE LOST HEIR.

" I have been thinking of that/' Dr. Leeds exc-iaimed,
"but I have come to the conclusion that it is very un-
likely that he will do so. In the first place, he must
have had accomplices. The man who spoke to the nurse
and the cabman who drove the child away must both
have been employed by him, and I have no doubt what-
ever that the child has been placed with some persons
who are probably altogether ignorant of his identity.
Walter was a lovable child, and as soon as he got over
his first grief he would no doubt become attached to the
people he was with, and although these might be willing
to take a child who, they were told, had lost its parents,
and was homeless and friendless, without inquiring too
closely into the circumstances, it is unlikely in the ex-
treme that they would connive at any acts of violence.
It is by no means easy to murder and then to dispose of
the body of a child of seven, and I should doubt whether
this man would attempt such a thing. He would be per-
fectly content that the boy would be out of his way, that
all traces of him should be lost, and that it would be
beyond the range of probability that he could ever be
identified, and, lastly, even the most hardened villains
do not like putting their necks in a noose. Moreover,
if in the last extremity his confederates, believing that
he had made away with the child, tried to blackmail
him, or some unforeseen circumstance brought home to
him the guilt of this abduction, he would be in a position
to produce the child, and even to make good terms for
himself for doing so. You yourself, whatever your feel-
ings might be as to the man whom you believe to be the
murderer of your uncle, would still be willing to pay a
considerable sum and allow him to leave the country, on
condition of his restoring "Walter. Therefore I think
that you may make your mind easy on that score, and
believe that whatever has happened to him, or wherever
he may be, there is no risk of actual harm befalling him."

" Thank you very much, doctor. That is indeed a re-
lief. And now have you thought of any plan upon which
we had best set to work?"

DR. LEEDS SPEAKS. 149

- Not at present, beyond the fact that I see that the
power you both possess of reading what men say, when,
as they believe, out of earshot, ought to be of material
advantage to you. As Miss Purcell has promised to asso-
ciate herself with you in the search, I should say that
she would be of more use in this direction than you
would. You have told me that he must be perfectly
aware of your dislike for him, and would certainly be
most careful, were you in his presence, although he might
not dream of this power that you possess. But he *ias
never seen your friend., and would not be on his guard
with her. I have at present not thought over any plan,
by which she could watch him — that must be for after
consideration — but it seems to me that this offers some
chance of obtaining a clew."

" I am ready to do anything, Dr. Leeds/' Netta said
firmly. "You only have to find out a way, and I will
follow out your instructions to the letter. First we
must find out whether Hilda's theory about this man,
which I scoffed at when she first spoke of it to me, is
correct."

u You mean the theory that this man is not John
Simcoe at all, but someone who, knowing the facts of
the rescue from the tiger, and being also well acquainted
with people and things in Benares, has personated him?
I will not discuss that now. I have an appointment to
meet a colleague for consultation in a difficult case, and
have already run the time very close. You shall see me
again shortly, when I have had time to think the whole
matter over quietly."

CHAPTEK XIII

NETTA VISITS STOWMAEKET.

" Well, Netta," Hilda said, after Dr. Leeds had left
them, "I suppose you will not in future laugh at my
instincts. I only wish that they had been stronger. I
wish I had told my dear uncle that I disliked the man so
thoroughly that I was sure there was something wrong
with him, and implored him not to become very intimate
with him. If I had told him how strongly I felt on the
subject, although, of course, he could have left or given
him any sum that he chose, I do think it would have had
some influence with him. No doubt he would have
laughed at what he would have called my suspicious
nature, but I think he would not have become so friendly
with the man; but, of course, I never thought of this.
Oh, Netta! my heart seems broken at the thought that
my dear uncle, the kindest of men, should have been
murdered by a man towards whom his thoughts were so
kindly that he appointed him his heir in the event of
Walter's death. If he had left him double the sum he
did, and had directed that in case of Walter's death the
property should go to hospitals, the child might now
have been safe in the house. It is heartbreaking to
thnk of.;

"Well, dear," Netta said, "we have our work before
us. I say 'we' because, although he was no relation to
me, I loved him from the first, when he came over with
the news of your father's death. Had I been his niece
as well as you, he could not have treated me more kindly
than he did when I was staying with you last year, and
during the last four months that I have been with you.
One could see, even in the state he was in, how kind his
nature was, and his very helplessness added to one's

160

NETTA VISITS STOWMAREET. 151

affection for him. I quite meant what I said, for until
this matter is cleared up, and until this crime, if crime
it really is, is brought to light, I will stay here, and be
your helper, however the long the . time may be. There
are two of us, and I do not think that either of us are
fools, and we ought to be a match for one man. There
is one thing we have, that is a man on whom we can
rely. I do not mean Dr. Leeds; I regard him as our
director. I mean Tom Eoberts; he would have given
his life, I am sure, for his master, and I feel confident
that he will carry out any instructions we may give him
to the letter."

"I am sure he will, Netta. Do. you think we ought
to tell him our suspicions ? "

" I should do so unhesitatingly, Hilda. I am sure he
will be ready to go through fire and water to avenge his
master's death. As aunt is out I think it will be as well
to take him into our confidence at once."

Hilda said nothing, but got up and rang the bell.
"When the footman entered she said, " Tell Eoberts that
I want to speak to him." When the man came up she
went on, " We are quite sure, Tom, that you were most
thoroughly devoted to your master, and that you would
do anything in your power to get to the bottom of the
events that have brought about his death and the carry-
ing off of his grandson."

" That I would, miss; there is not anything that I
would not do if you would only set me about it."

" Well, Eoberts, I am about to take you into our con-
fidence, relying implicitly upon your silence and on your
aid."

" You can do that, miss, safely enough. There is
nothing now that I can do for my master; but as for
Master Walter, I would walk to China if 1 thought that
there was a chance of finding him there."

" In the first place you must remember, Eoberts, that
we are acting only upon suspicion; we have only that
to go upon, and our object must be to find some proofs
i to justify those suspicions."

152 THE LOST HE IB

"I understand, miss; you have got an idea, and you
want to see if it is right? "

" We ourselves have little doubt of it, Roberts. Now
please sit down and listen to me, and don't interrupt
me till I have finished."

Then she related the grounds that she had for sus-
picion that the General's death and Walter's abduction
were both the work of John Sinicoe, and also her own
theory that this man was not the person who had saved
the General's life. In spite of her warning not to inter-
rupt, Tom Roberts' exclamations of fury were frequent
and strongly worded.

"Well, miss!" he exclaimed, when she had finished
and his tongue was untied, " I did not think that there
was such a villain upon the face of the earth. Why, if
I had suspected this I would have killed him, if I had
been hung for it a week after. And to think that he
regular took me in! He had always a cheerful word
for me, if I happened to open the door for him. ' How
are you, Tom?' he would say, 'hearty as usual?' and
he would slip a crown into my hand to drink his health.
I always keep an account of tips that I receive, and the
first thing I do will be to add them up and see how much
I have had from him, and I will hand it over to a charity.
One don't like setting out to help to bring a man to the
gallus when you have got his money in your pocket. I
must have been a fool, miss, not to have kept a better
watch, but I never thought ill of the man. It seemed
to me that he had been a soldier. Sometimes when he
was talking with me he would come out with barrack-
room sayings, and though he never said that he had
served, nor the General neither, I thought that he must
have done so. He had a sort of way of carrying his
shoulders which you don't often see among men who
have not learned the goose-step. I will wait, miss, with
your permission, until I have got rid of that money, and
then if you say to me, ' Go to that man's rooms and take
him by the throat and squeeze the truth mt of him.' I
am ready to do it."

ITETTA VISITS STOWMABKET 153

u We shall not require such prompt measures as that,
Tom; we must go about our work carefully and quietly,
and I fear that it will be a very long time before we are
able to collect facts that we can act upon. We have
not decided yet how to begin. I may tell you that the
only other person who shares our suspicions is Dr. Leeds.
We think it best that even Miss Purcell should know
nothing about them. It would only cause her great
anxiety, and the matter will, therefore, be kept a close
secret among our four selves. In a few days our plans
will probably be complete, and I think that your share
in the business will be to watch every movement of this
man and to ascertain who are his associates; many of
them, no doubt, are club men, who, of course, will be
above suspicion, but it is certain that he must have had
accomplices in the abduction of the child. Whether he
visits them or they visit him, is a point to find out.
There is little chance of their calling during daylight,
and it is in the evening that you will have to keep a close
eye on him and ascertain who his visitors are."

" All right, miss, I wish he did not know me by sight;
but I expect that I can get some sort of a disguise so
that he won't recognize me."

" I don't think that there will be any difficulty about
that. Of course we are not going to rely only upon you;
Miss Purcell and myself are both going to devote our-
selves to the search."

" We will run him down between us, miss, never fear.
It cannot be meant that such a fellow as this should
not be found out in his villainy. I wish that there was
something more for me to do. I know several old
soldiers like myself, who would join me willingly enough,
and we' might between us carry him off and keep him
shut up somewhere, just as he is doing Master Walter,
until he makes a clean breast of it. It is wonderful
what the cells and bread and water will do to take a
fellow's spirit down. It is bad enough when one knows
how long one has got to bear it; but to know that there
is no end to it until you choose to speak would get the

154 THE LOST HEIR.

truth out of Old Nick, begging your pardon for naming
him."

" Well, we shall see, Roberts. That would certainly
be a last resource, and I fear that it would not be so
effectual as you think. If he told us that if he did not
pay his usual visit to the boy it would be absolutely
certain we should never see him alive again, we should
not dare retain him."

" Well, miss, whatever you decide on I will do. I have
lost as a good master as ever a man had, and there is
nothing that I would not do to bring that fellow to
justice."

The girls waited impatiently for the next visit of Dr.
Leeds. It was four days before he came.

" I hoped to have been here before," he said, " but
I have been so busy that it has not been possible for me
to manage it. Of course this business has always been
in my mind, and it seems to me that the first step to
be taken is to endeavor to ascertain whether this fellow
is really, as you believe, Miss Covington, an impostor.
Have you ever heard him say in what part of the country
he formerly resided?"

" Yes; he lived at Stowmarket. I know that some
months ago he introduced to uncle a gentleman who
was manager at a bank there, and had known him from
boyhood. He was up for a few days staying with him."

" That is certainly rather against your surmise, Miss
Covington; however, it is as well to clear that matter
up before we attempt anything else."

" I will go down and make inquiries, doctor," Netta
said quietly. " I am half a head shorter than Hilda, and
altogether different in face; therefore, if he learns that
anjr inquiries have been made, he will be sure that who-
ever made them was not Hilda."

" We might send down a detective, Miss Purcell."

"No; I want to be useful," she said, " and I flatter
myself that I shall be able to do quite as well as a de-
tective. We could hardly take a detective into our con-
fidence in a matter of this kind, and not knowing every-

NETTA VISITS STOWMAREET. 155

thing, he might miss points that would give us a clew-
to the truth. I will start to-morrow. I shall tell my
aunt that I am going away for a day or two to follow
up some clew we have obtained that may lead to Walter's
discovery. In a week you shall know whether this man
is really what he claims to be."

" Very well, Miss Purcell; then we will leave this mat-
ter in your hands."

" By the way, doctor," Hilda Covington said, " we have
taken Eoberts into our confidence. We know that we
can rely upon his discretion implicitly, and it seemed
to us that we must have somebody we can trust absolutely
'to watch this man."

" I don't think that you could have done better," he
said. " I was going to suggest that it would be well
to obtain his assistance. From what I have heard, very
few of these private detectives can be absolutely relied
upon. I do not mean that they are necessarily rogues,
who would take money from both sides, but that, if after
trying for some time they consider the matter hopeless,
they will go on running up expenses and making charges
when they have in reality given up the search. What do
you propose that he shall do?"

" I should say that, in the first place, he should watch
every evening the house where Simcoe lives, and follow
up everyone who comes out and ascertain who they are.
No doubt the great majority of them will be clubmen,
but it is likely that he will be occasionally visited by
some of his confederates."

" I think that is an excellent plan. He will, of course,
also follow him when he goes out, for it is much more
likely that he will visit these fellows than that they
should, come to him. In a case like this he would
assuredly use every precaution, and would scarcely let
them know who he is and where he resides."

" No doubt that is so, doctor, and it would make
Roberts' work all the easier, for even if they came to
the man's lodgings he might be away, following up the
track of someone who had called before him."

156 TEE LOST HEIR.

Xetta returned at the end of four days.

" I have not succeeded," she said, in answer to Hilda's
inquiring look as she came in. " The man is certainly
well known at Stowmarket as John Simcoe; but that
does not prove that he is the man, and just as he de-
ceived your uncle he may have deceived the people
down there. Now I will go upstairs and take off my
things, and then give you a full account of my pro-
ceedings.

" My first step," she began on her return, " was, of
course, to find out what members of the Simcoe family
lived there. After engaging a room at the hotel, which
I can assure you was the most unpleasant part of the"
business, for they seemed to be altogether unaccustomed
to the arrival of young ladies unattended, I went into
the town. It is not much of a place, and after making
some little purchases and inquiring at several places, I
heard of a maiden lady of that name. The woman who
told me of her was communicative. ' She has just had
a great piece of luck/ she said. ' About ten months
back a nephew, whom everyone had supposed to have
been lost at sea, came home with a great fortune, and
they say that he has behaved most handsomely to her.
She has always bought her Berlin wool and such things
here, and she has spent three or four times as much
since he came home as she did before, and I know from
a neighbor, of whom she is a customer, that the yards
and yards of flannel that she buys for making up into
petticoats for poor children is wonderful. Do you know
her, miss?' I said that I did not know her personally,
but that some friends of mine, knowing that I was going
to Stowmarket, had asked me to inquire if Miss Simcoe
was still alive. I said casually that I might call and see
her, and so got her address.

" I then went to call upon her. She lives in a little
place called Myrtle Cottage. I had been a good deal
puzzled as to what story I should tell her. I thought
at first of giving myself out as the sister of the young
lady to whom her nephew was paying his addresses; and

NETTA VISITS STOWMAREET. 157

as we knew nothing of him except that he was wealthy,
and as he had mentioned that he had an aunt at Stow-
market, and as I was coming down there, I had been
asked to make inquiries about him. But I thought this
might render her so indignant that I should get nothing
from her. I thought, therefore, I had better get all she
knew voluntarily; so I went to the house, knocked, and
asked whether Miss Sinicoe was in. I was shown by a
little maid into the parlor, a funny, little, old-fashioned
room. Presently Miss Simcoe herself came in. She was
just the sort of woman I had pictured — a kindly-looking,
little old maid.

" ' I do not know whether I have done wrong, Miss
Simcoe/ I said, ' but I am a stranger here, and having
overworked myself at a picture from which I hope great
things, I have been recommended country air; and a
friend told me that Stowmarket was a pretty, quiet,
country town, just the place for an overworked Londoner
to gain health in, so I came down and made some in-
quiries for a single lady who would perhaps take me in
and give me a comfortable home for two or three months.
Your name has been mentioned to me as being just the
lady I am seeking."

" ' You have been misinformed/ she said, a little
primly. ' I do not say that a few months back I might
not have been willing to have entertained such an offer,
but my circumstances have changed since then, and now I
should not think for a moment of doing so.'

" Rising from my seat with a tired air, I said that
I was much obliged to her, but I was very sorry she
could not take me in, as I was sure that I should be very
comfortable; however,. as she could not, of course there
was an end of it.

" ' Sit down, my dear/ the old lady said. ' I see that
you are tired and worn out; my servant shall get you a
cup of tea. You see/ she went on, as I murmured my
thanks and sat down, ' I cannot very well do what you
ask. As I said, a few months ago I should certainly
have been very glad to have had a young lady like v-mr-

158 THE LOST HEIR.

self to stay with me for a time; I think that when a lady-
gets to my age a little youthful companionship does her
good. . Besides, I do not mind saying that my means were
somewhat straitened, and that a little additional
money would have been a great help to me; but every-
thing was changed by the arrival of a nephew of mine.
Perhaps you may have heard his name; he is a rich man,
and I believe goes out a great deal, and belongs to clubs
and so on.'

" I said that I had not heard of him, for I knew noth-
ing about society, nor the sort of men who frequented
clubs.

" ' No, of course not, my dear,' she said. ' Well, he
had been away for twenty years, and everyone thought
he was dead. He sailed away in some ship that was
never heard of again, and you may guess my surprise
when he walked in here and called me aunt.'

" ' You must have been indeed surprised, Miss Simcoe/
I said; ' it must have been quite a shock to you. And
did you know him at once?'

"'Oh, dear, no! He had been traveling about the
world, you see, for a very long time, and naturally in
twenty years he was very much changed; but of course I
soon knew him when he began to talk.'

" ' You recognized his voice, I suppose?' I suggested.

" ' No, my dear, no. Of course his voice had changed,
just as his appearance had done. He had been what he
called knocking about, among all sorts of horrible
savages, eating and drinking all kinds of queer things;
it made my blood run cold to listen to him. But I never
asked any questions about these things; I was afraid
he might say that when he was among the cannibals he
used to eat human flesh, and I don't think that I could
like a man who had done that, even though he was my
nephew.'

" ' Did he go out quite as a boy, Miss Simcoe ? ' I
asked.

" ' Oh, no! He was twenty-four, I think, when he went
abroad. He had a situation in the bank here. I know

NETTA VISITS STOWMARKET 159

that the manager thought very highly of him, and, in-
deed, he was everywhere well spoken of. My brother
Joshua — his father, you know — died, and he came in for
two or three thousand pounds. He had always had a
great fancy for travel, and so, instead of looking out for
some nice girl and settling down, he threw up his situa-
tion and started on his travels.'

" ' Had his memory been affected by the hot suns and
the hardships that he had gone through?' I asked.

" ' Oh, dear! not at all. He recognized everyone
almost whom he had known. Of course he was a good
deal more changed than they were.'

" ' They did not recognize him any more than you
did?'

" ' Not at first,' she said. When a man is believed
to have been dead for twenty years, his face does
not occur to old friends when they meet an apparent
stranger.'

" ' That is quite natural,' I agreed. ' What a pleasure
it must have been to him to talk over old times and old
friends! '

" ' Indeed it was, my dear. He enjoyed it so much
that for three days he would not move out of the house.
Dear me! what pleasant talks we had.'

" ' And you say, Miss Simcoe, that his coming has quite
altered your position? '

" ' Yes, indeed. The very first thing he said after
coming into the house was that he had come home re-
solved to make me and my sister Maria thoroughly com-
fortable. Poor Maria died some years ago, but of course
he did not know it. Then he said that he should allow
me fifty pounds a year for life.'

" ' That was very kind and nice indeed, Miss Simcoe/
I said.

" By this time, seeing that my sympathy was with
her, her heart opened altogether to me, and she said
that she felt sure that her nephew would not like it
were she to take in a lodger, and might indeed consider
it a hint that he might have been more liberal than he

10G THE LOST HEIR.

was. But she invited me to stay three days with her
while I was looking about for suitable lodgings. I found
that her house was a regular rendezvous for the tabbies
of the neighborhood. Every afternoon there were some
four or five of them there. Some brought work, others
came in undisguisedly to gossip. Many of these had
known John Simcoe in his younger days, and by careless
questioning I elicited the fact that no one would have
recognized him had it not been for Miss Simcoe having
told them of his arrival.

" The manager of the bank I rather shrank from an
encounter with, but I managed to obtain from Mis3
Simcoe a letter her nephew had written to her when
he was away from home a short time before he left
England, and also one written by him since his return.
So far as I could see, there was not the slightest resem-
blance between them.

" I thought that I might possibly get at someone less
likely to be on his guard than the bank manager, and
she happened to mention as an interesting fact that one
of the clerks who had entered the bank a lad of seven-
teen, only a month or two before her nephew left, was
now married to the daughter of one of her gossips. I
said that her story had so deeply interested me that I
should be glad to make his acquaintance.

" He came with his wife the evening before I left. He
was very chatty and pleasant, and while there was a
general conversation going on among the others, I said
to him that I was a great student of handwriting, and I
flattered myself that I could tell a man's character from
his handwriting; but I owned that I had been quite dis-
concerted by two letters which Miss Simcoe was kind
enough to show me from her nephew, one written before
he left the bank, the other dated three or four months
ago.

" ' I cannot see the slightest resemblance between the
two,' I said, ' and do not remember any instance which
has come under my knowledge of the handwriting of
any man or woman changing so completely in the course

NETTA VISITS ST0WMARKE1. 16 i

of twenty years. The one is a methodical, business sort
of writing, showing marks of steady purpose, regularity
of habits, and a kindly disposition. I won't give you
my opinion of the other, but the impression that was
left upon my mind was far from favorable.'

" ' Yes, there has been an extraordinary change,' he
agreed. ' I can recollect the former one perfectly, for
I saw him sign scores of letters and documents, and if
he had had an account standing at the bank now I
should without question honor a check so signed. No
doubt the great difference is accounted for by the life
that Mr. Simcoe has led. He told me himself that for
years, at one time, he had never taken a pen in hand,
and that he had almost forgotten how to write; and that
his fingers had grown so clumsy pulling at ropes, rowing
an oar, digging for gold, and opening oysters for pearls,
that they had become all thumbs, and he wrote no better
than a schoolboy.'

" ' But that is not the case, Mr. Askill,' I said; ' the
writing is still clerkly in character, and does not at all
answer to his own description.'

" ' I noticed that myself, and so did our chief. He
showed me a letter that he had received from Simcoe,
asking him to run up for a few days, to stay with him
in London. He showed it to me with the remark that
in all his experience he had never seen so great and
complete a change in the handwriting of any man as in
that of Mr. Simcoe since he left the bank. He consid-
ered it striking proof how completely a man's hand-
writing depends upon his surroundings. He turned up
an old ledger containing many entries in Simcoe's hand-
writing, and we both agreed that we could not see a
single point of resemblance.'

" ' Thank you,' I said; ' I am glad to find that my
failure to recognize the two handwritings as being those
of the same man has been shared by two gentlemen
who are, like myself in a humble way, experts at hand-
writing.'

" T"he next morning I got your letter, written after I

162 TEE LOST EEIBr

had sent you the address, and told Miss Simeoe that I
was unexpectedly called back to town, but that it was
quite probable that I should ere long be down again,
when I would arrange with one or other of the people of
whom she had kindly spoken to me. That is all I have
been able to learn, Hilda."

" But it seems to me that you have learned an immense
deal, Netta. You have managed it most admirably."

"At any rate, I have got as much as I expected, if
not more; I have learned that no one recognized this
man Simeoe on his first arrival in his native town, and
it was only when this old lady had spread the news
abroad, and had told the tale of his generosity to her,
and so prepared the way for him, that he was more or
less recognized; she having no shadow of doubt but that
he was her long-lost nephew. In the three days that he
stopped with her he had no doubt learned from the dear
old gossip almost every fact connected with his boy-
hood, the men he was most intimate with, the positions
they held, and I doubt not some of the escapades in
which they might have taken part together; so that he
was thoroughly well primed before he met them. Be-
sides, no doubt they were more anxious to hear tales of
adventure than to talk of the past, and his course must
have been a very easy one.

" Miss Simeoe said that he spent money like a prince,
and gave a dinner to all his old friends, at which every
dainty appeared, and the champagne flowed like water.
We may take it as certain that none of his guests ever
entertained the slightest doubt that their host was the
man he pretended to be. There could seem to them
no conceivable reason why a stranger should come down,
settle an income upon Miss Simeoe, and spend his money
liberally among all his former acquaintances, if he were
any other man than John Simeoe.

"Lastly, we have the handwriting. The man seems
to have laid his plans marvelously well, and to have pro-
vided against every unforeseen contingency; yet un-
doubtedly he must have altogether overlooked the ques-

if ETTA VISITS STOWMARKET. 163

tion of handwriting, although his declaration that he had
almost forgotten how to use his pen was an ingenious
one, and I might have accepted it myself if he had
written in the rough, scrambling character you would ex-
pect under the circumstances. But his handwriting,
although in some places he had evidently tried to write
roughly, on the whole is certainly that of a man accus-
tomed at one time of his life to clerkly work, and yet
differing as widely as the poles from the handwriting of
Simcoe, both in the bank ledger and in the letter to his
aunt.

" I think, Hilda, that although the matter cannot be
decided, it certainly points to your theory that this man
is not the John Simcoe who left Stowmarket twenty
years ago. He attempted, and I think very cleverly, to
establish his identity by a visit to Stowmarket, and no
doubt did so to everyone's perfect satisfaction; but when
we come to go into the thing step by step, we see that
everything he did might have been done by anyone who
happened to have a close resemblance to John Simcoe in
figure and some slight resemblance in face, after listening
for three days to Miss Simcoe's gossip."

CHAPTER XIV.

AN ADVERTISEMENT.

" I cannot wait for Dr. Leeds to come round," Hilda
said the next morning at breakfast. " You and I will
pay him a visit in Harley Street. I am sure that he will
not grudge a quarter of an hour to hear what you have
done."

"What mystery are you two girls engaged in?" Miss
Pureell asked, as she placidly poured out the tea.

" It is a little plot of our own, aunt," ISTetta said. " We
are trying to get on Walter's track in our own way, and
to be for a time amateur detectives. So far we have not
found any decisive clew, but I think that we are search-
ing in the right direction. Please trust us entirely, and
we hope some day we shall have the triumph of bringing
Walter back, safe and sound."

" I pray God that it may be so, my dear. I know that
you are both sensible girls, and not likely to get your-
selves into any silly scrape."

(4I don't think we are, aunt; but I am afraid that
neither of us would consider any scrape a foolish one
that brought us even a little bit nearer to the object
of onr search. At any rate, aunt, it will reassure you
to know that we are acting in concert with Dr. Leeds, of
whom I know that you entertain the highest opinion."

" Certainly I do. Of course I am no judge whatever
as to whether he is a good doctor, but I should think,
from what Dr. Pearson says, that he must, in the opinion
oi: other medical men, be considered an exceptionally
clever man for his age; and having seen him for four
months and lived in close contact with him, I would
rather be attended by him than by anyone else I have
ever mete His kindness to the General was unceasing.

164

AN ADVERTISEMENT. 165

Had he been his son, he could not have been more
patient and more attentive. He showed wonderful skill
in managing him, and was at once sympathetic and
cheerful. But, more than that, I admired his tact in
filling the somewhat difficult position in which he was
placed. Although he was completely one of the family,
and any stranger would have supposed that he was a
brother, or at least a cousin, there was always something.
in his manner that, even while laughing and chatting
with us all, placed a little barrier between us and him-
self; and one felt that, although most essentially a friend,
he was still there as the General's medical attendant.

" It was a difficult position for a man of his age to
be placed in. Had he been like most of the doctors we
knew in Germany, a man filled with the idea that he
must always be a professor of medicine, and impressing
people with his learning and gravity, it might have been
easy enough. But there is nothing of that sort about
him at all; he is just as high-spirited and is as bright
and cheerful as other young men of about the same
age, and it was only when he was with the General that
his gentleness of manner recalled the fact that he was a
doctor. As I say, it was a difficult position, with only an
old woman like myself and two girls, who looked to
him for comfort and hope, who treated him as if he
had been an old friend, and were constantly appealing to
him for his opinion on all sorts of subjects.

" I confess that, when he first came here with Dr.
Pearson, I thought that it was a very rash experiment
to introduce a young and evidently pleasant man to us
under such circumstances, especially as you, Hilda, are a
rich heiress and your own mistress; and feeling as I did
that I was in the position of your chaperon, I must say
that at first I felt very anxious about you, and it was a
great relief to me when after a time I saw no signs, either
on his part or yours, of any feeling stronger than friend-
ship springing up."

Hilda laughed merrily.

" The idea never entered into my mind, aunt; it is

166 THE LOST HEIR.

funny to me that so many people should think that a
young man and a young woman cannot be thrown
together without falling in love with each other. At
present, fortunately, I don't quite understand what
falling in love means. I like Dr. Leeds better, I think,
than any young man I ever met, but I don't think that
it can be in the least like what people feel when they
fall in love. Certainly it was always as uncle's doctor,
rather than as a possible suitor for my hand— that is
the proper expression, isn't it?— that I thought of him.

"So I was glad to perceive, Hilda; and I was very
thankful that it was so. Against him personally I had
nothing to say, quite the contrary; but I saw that he
was greatly attached to a profession in which he seems
likely to make himself a fine position, and nothing
could be more uncomfortable than that such a man
should marry a girl with a fine country estate. Either
he would have to give up his profession or she would
have to settle down in London as the wife of a physician,
and practically forfeit all her advantages."
Hilda again laughed.

"It is wonderful that all these things should never
have occurred to me, aunt. I see now how fortunate
it was that I did not fall in love with him. And now,
Ketta, as we have finished breakfast, we will put on our
things at once and s-o and consult our physician in ordi-
nary. We have a fair chance of being the first to amve
if we start immediately. I told Eoberts to have the car-
riage at the door at half-past nine, and he does not begin
to see patients until ten." . _

"Bravo! Miss Purcell," Dr. Leeds exclaimed, when
she had given him an account of her mission. 01
course there is nothing absolutely proved, but at least it
shows that his identity is open to doubt, since none ot
the people he had known recognized him at first sight,
and of course all his knowledge of them may have been
picked ur> from the gossiping old lady, his aunt. Some-
thing has been gained, but the evidence is rather nega-
tive °than positive. It is possible that he is not the man

AN ADVERTISEMENT. 167

that ne pretends to be; though at present, putting aside
the question of handwriting, we must admit that the
balance of probability is very much the other way. To
begin with, how could this man, supposing him to be an
impostor, know that John Simcoe was born in Stow-
market, and had relatives living there?"

" I forgot to mention that, Dr. Leeds. An advertise-
ment was inserted in the county paper, saying that if
any relatives of John Simcoe, who left England about
1830, would communicate with someone or other in town
they would hear something to their advantage. I was
told this by one of Miss Simcoe's friends, who saw it in
the paper and brought it in to her. She was very proud
of having made the discovery, and regarded herself quite
in the light of a benefactor to Miss Simcoe. I remarked,
when she told me, that it was curious he should have
advertised instead of coming down himself to inquire.
Miss Simcoe said that she had expressed surprise to him,
and that he had said he did so because he should have
Bhrunk from coming down, had he not learned there was
someone to welcome him."

" Curious," Dr. Leeds said thoughtfully. " We may
quite put it out of our minds that the reason he gave
was the real one. A man of this kind would not have
suffered any very severe shock had he found that Stow-
marke+ and all it contained had been swallowed up by
an earthquake. No, certainly that could not have been
the reason; we must think of some other. And now,
ladies, as this is the third card I have had brought in
since you arrived, I must leave the matter as it stands.
I think that we are getting on much better than we could
have expected."

" That advertisement is very curious, Netta," Hilda
said as they drove back. "Why should he have put it
in? It would have been so much more natural that he
should have gone straight down."

" I cannot think, Hilda. It did not strike me particu-
larly when I heard of it, and I did not give it a thought
afterwards You see, I did not mention it, either to you

168 THE LOST HEIR.

or Dr. Leeds, until it flashed across my mind when we
were talking. Of course I did not see the advertisement
itself, but Miss Simcoe told me that there had been a
good deal of discussion before she answered it, as some
of them had thought that it might be a trick.5'

" "When was it he went down? "

"It was in August last year; and it was in the first
week in September that he came here."

" He went down to get or manufacture proof of his
identity," Hilda said. " As it turned out, uncle accepted
his statement at once, and never had the smallest doubt
as to his being John Simcoe. The precaution, therefore,
was unnecessary; but at the same time it certainly helps
him now that a doubt has arisen. It would have been
very strange if a man possessing sufficient means to
travel in India should have had no friends or connections
in England. I was present when he told my uncle that
he had been down to see his aunt at Stowmarket, and
in the spring he brought a gentleman who, he said, was
manager of the Stowmarket Bank, in which he had him-
self been at one time a clerk. So you see he did
strengthen his position by going down there."

" It strengthens it in one way, Hilda, but in the other
it weakens it. As long as no close inquiries were made,
it was doubtless an advantage to him to have an aunt of
the same name in Stowmarket, and to be able to prove
by means of a gentleman in the position of manager of
the bank that he, John Simcoe, had worked under him
three or four and twenty years ago. On the other hand,
it was useful to us as a starting-point. If we had been
utterly in the dark as to Simcoe's birthplace or past
career, we should have had to start entirely in the dark.
Now, at any rate, we have located the birthplace of the
real man, and learned something of his position, his
family, and how he became possessed of money that
enabled him to start on a tour round the world. I adhere
as firmly as before to the belief that this is not the real
man, and the next step is to discover how he learned that
John Simcoe had lived at Stowmarket. At any rate it

AN ADVERTISEMENT 169

Wudld be *4 well that we should find the advertisement.
It might tell us nothing, but at the least we should learn
the place to which answers were to be sent. How should
we set about that? "

" I can get a reader's ticket for the British Museum,
because the chief librarian was a friend of uncle's and
dined with him several times," Hilda replied. " If I
write to him and say that I want to examine some files
of newspapers, to determine a question of importance,
I am sure that he will send me a ticket at once. I may
as well ask for one for you also. We may want to go
there again to decide some other point."

Hilda at once wrote a note and sent Tom Roberts with
it to the Museum, and he returned two hours later with
the tickets.

" There are three Suffolk papers," the chief assistant
in the Newspaper Department said courteously, on their
sending up the usual slip of paper. " Which do you
want?"

" I do not know. I should like to see them all three,
please; the numbers for the first two weeks in August
last."

In a few minutes three great volumes were placed on
the table. These contained a year's issue, and on turn-
ing to the first week in August they found that the ad-
vertisement had appeared in all of the papers. They
carefully copied it out, and were about to leave the
library when Xetta said:

" Let us talk this over for a minute or two before we
go. It seems to me that there is a curious omission in
the advertisement."

-What is that?"

" Don't you see that he does not mention Stowmarket?
He simply inquires for relations of John Simcoe, who
was supposed to have been lost at sea. It would certainly
seem to be more natural that he shoi#d put it only in
the paper that was likely to be read in Stowmarket, and;
surely he would have said ' relatives of John Simcoe,
who left Stowmarket in the year 1830.' It looks very

170 THE LOST HEIR.

much as if, while he knew that Simcoe was a Suffolk
man, he had no idea in what part of the county he had
lived."

" It is* very curious, certainly, Netta; and, as you say,
it does seem that if he had known that it had been Stow-
market he would have said so in the advertisement.
Possibly! " Hilda exclaimed so sharply that a gentle-
man at an adjoining table murmured " Hush! " " he did
did not know that it was in Suffolk. Let us look in the
London papers. Let us ask for the files of the Times
and Standard."

The papers were brought and the advertisement was
found in both of them.

" There, you see," Netta said triumphantly, " he still
says nothing about Suffolk."

She beckoned to the attendant.

" I am sorry to give you so much trouble, but will you
please get us the files of three or four country papers of
the same date. I should like them in different parts of
the country — Yorkshire, for instance, and Hereford, and
Devonshire."

" It is no trouble, miss," he replied; " that is what we
are here for."

In a few minutes the three papers were brought, and
Netta's triumph was great when she found the adver-
tisement in each of them.

"That settles it conclusively," she said. "The man
did not know what part of the country John Simcoe
came from, and he advertised in the London papers, and
in the provincial papers all over the country."

" That was a splendid idea of yours, Netta. I think
that it settles the question as to the fact that the theory
you all laughed at was correct, and that this man is not
the real John Simcoe."

When they got back, Hilda wrote a line to Dr. Leeds :

" Dear Doctor: I do think that we have discovered
"beyond doubt that the man is an impostor, and that who-
ever he may be, he is not John Simcoe. When you can

AN ADVERTISEMENT. Ill

spare time, please come round. It is too long to
explain."

At nine o'clock that evening Dr. Leeds arrived, and
heard of the steps that they had taken.

" Really, young ladies," he said, " I must retire at once
from my post of director of searches. It was an excel-
lent thought to ascertain the exact wording of the adver-
tisement, and the fact that the word. Stowmarket did
not appear in it, and that it was inserted in other county
papers, was very significant as to the advertiser's
ignorance of John Simcoe's birthplace. But the quick-
ness with which you saw how this could be proved up to
the hilt shows that you are born detectives, and I shall be
happy to sit at your feet in future."

"Then you thinkthat it is quite conclusive?"

" Perfectly so. The real John Simcoe would, of course,
have put the advertisement into the county paper pub-
lished nearest to Stowmarket, and he would naturally
have used the word Stowmarket. That omission might,
however, have been accidental; but the appearance of
the advertisement in the London papers, and as you have
seen, in provincial papers all over England, appears to
me ample evidence that he did not know from what
county Simcoe came, and was ready to spend a pretty
heavy amount to discover it. Now, I think that you
should at once communicate with Mr. Pettigrew, and in-
form him of your suspicion and the discovery that you
have made. It is for him to decide whether any steps
should be taken in the matter, and, if so, what steps.
As one of the trustees he is responsible for the proper
division of the estates of General Mathieson, and the
matter is of considerable importance to him.

" I think now, too, that our other suspicions should
also be laid before him. Of course, these are greatly'
strengthened by his discovery. John Simcoe, who
saved your uncle's life at the risk of his own, was
scarcely the sort of man who would be guiltv of murder
and abduction; but an unknown adventurer, who had

11 f. TEE LOST HEIR.

p?.ssed himself off as being Simcoe, with tne object of
obtaining a large legacy from the General, may iairly
be assumed capable of taking any steps that would, enable
him to obtain it. If you'd like to write to Mr. Pettigrew
and make an appointment to meet him at his office at
three o'clock to-morrow afternoon, I will be here half an
hour before and accompany you."

The lawyer was somewhat surprised when Dr. Leeds
entered the office with the two ladies, but that astonish-
ment became stupefaction when they told their story.

'*' In the whole of my professional career I have never
heard a more astonishing story. I own that the abduc-
tion of the child at that critical moment did arouse sus-
picions in my mind that this Mr. Simcoe, the only person
that could be benefited by his disappearance, might be
at the bottom of it, and I was quite prepared to resist
until the last any demand that might be made on his
part for Walter to be declared to be dead, and the prop-
erty handed over to him. But that the man could have
had any connection whatever with the illness of the Gen-
eral, or that he was an impostor, never entered my mind.
With regard to the first, it is still a matter of suspicion
only, and we have not a shadow of proof to go upon.
You say yourself, Dr. Leeds, that Dr. Pearson, the Gen-
eral's own medical attendant, and the other eminent phy-
sicians called in, refused absolutely to accept your sug-
gestion, because, exceptional as the seizure and its effects
were, there was nothing that absolutely pointed to
poison. Unless we can obtain some distinct evidence on
that point, the matter must not be touched upon; for
even you would hardly be prepared to swear in court
that the General was a victim to poison? "

" No. I could not take my oath to it, but I certainly
could declare that the symptoms, to my mind, could be
attributed to poison only."

" In the case of the abduction of the boy," the lawyer
went on, " the only absolute ground for our suspicion is
that this man and no one else would have benefited by
it; and this theory certainly appears to ^e, si*P" the

AN ADVERTISEMENT. 173

discoveries you have made, a very tenable one. It all
comes so suddenly on me that I cannot think of giving
any opinion as to the best course to be adopted. I shall,
in the first place, consult Mr. Farmer, and in the next
place shall feel it my duty to take my co-trustee, Colonel
Bulstrode, into my confidence, because any action that
we may take must, of course, be in our joint names.
He called here the other day and stated to me that he
regarded the whole matter of Walter's abduction to be
suspicious in the extreme. He said he was convinced
that John Simcoe was at the bottom of it, his interest
in getting the boy out of the way being unquestionable,
and that we must move heaven and earth to find the
child. He agreed that we can do nothing about carrying
out the will until we have found him. I told him of the
steps that we have been taking and their want of suc-
cess. ' By gad, sir/ he said, ' he must be found, if we
examine every child in the country.' I ventured to sug-
gest that this would be a very difficult undertaking, to
which he only made some remark about the cold-blooded-
ness of lawyers, and said that if there were no other way
he would dress himself up as a costermonger and go into
every slum of London. Whether you would find him a
judicious assistant in your searches I should scarcely be
inclined to say, but you would certainly find him ready
to give every assistance in his power."

The next day, at three o'clock, Colonel Bulstrode was
announced. He was a short man, of full habit of body.
At the present moment his face was even redder than
usual.

" My dear Miss Covington," he burst out, as he came
into the room, "I have just heard of all this rascality,
and what you and your friend Miss Purcell have dis-
covered. By gad, young ladies, I feel ashamed of myself.
Here am I, Harry Bulstrode, a man of the world, and, as
such, considered that this affair of the man Simcoe be-
ing made heir in case of the child's death and the simul-
taneous disappearance of the boy to have been suspicious
in the extreme, and yet I have seen no way of doing any-

1?4 TEE LOST HEIR.

thing, and have been so upset that my temper has, as
that rascal Andrew, my old servant, had the impudence
to tell this morning, become absolutely unbearable. And
now I find that you two girls and a doctor fellow have
been quietly working the whole thing out, and that not
improbably my dear old friend was posioned, and that
the man who did it is not the man he pretended to be,
but an infernal impostor, who had of course carried the
child away, and may, for anything we know, have mur-
dered him. It has made me feel that I ought to go to
school again, for I must be getting into my second child-
hood. Still, young ladies, if, as is evident, I have no sense
to plan, I can at least do all in my power to assist you in
your search, and you have only to say to me, ' Colonel
liulstrode, we want an inquiry made in India/ and I am
off by the first P. and 0."

"Thank you very much, Colonel," Hilda said, trying
to repress a smile. "I was quite sure that from your
friendship for my dear uncle you would be ready to give
us your assistance, but so far there has been no way in
which you could have aided us in the inquiries that we
have^ made. Indeed, as Dr. Leeds has impressed upon
us, the fewer there are engaged in the matter the better;
for if this man knew that we were making all sorts of
inquiries about him, he might think it necessary for his
safety either to put Walter out of the way altogether,
or to send him to some place so distant that there would
"be practically no hope whatever of our ever discovering
him. At present I think that we have fairly satisfied
ourselves that this man is an impostor, and that the real
John Simcoe was drowned, as supposed, in the ship in
which he sailed from India. Who this man is, and how
he became acquainted with the fact that John Simcoe
saved my uncle's life in India, are mysteries that so far
we have no clew to; but these matters are at present of
minor importance to us. Before anything else we want
to find where Walter is hidden, and to do this we are
going to have this man watched. He cannot have car-
ried off Walter by himself, and, no doubt, he meets oc-

AN ADVERTISEMENT. 175

casionally the people who helped him, and who are now
hiding Walter. It is scarcely probable that they come
to his lodgings. He is not likely to put himself into
anyone's power, and no doubt goes by night in some dis-
guise to meet them. As, of course, he knows you per-
fectly well, it would be worse than useless for you to
try to follow him. That is going to be done by Tom
Roberts."

" Well, my man Andrew might help him," the Colonel
said. " Simcoe has often dined with me at the club, but
he never came to my chambers. One man cannot be
always on the watch, and Andrew can take turns with
Eoberts. He is an impudent rascal, but he has got a
fair share of sense; so, when you are ready, if you will
drop me a line, he shall come here and take his instruc-
tions from you."

" Thank you very much, Colonel. That certainly
would be of assistance. It is only of an evening that he
would be wanted, for we are quite agreed that these meet-
iags are sure to take place after dark."

CHAPTER XV.

VERY BAD NEWS.

A month passed. Tom Roberts and Andrew watched
together in Jerrnyn Street, the former with a cap pulled
well down over his face and very tattered clothes, the
latter dressed as a groom, but making no attempt to dis-
guise his face. During that time everyone who called
at the house in Jerrnyn Street was followed, and their
names and addresses ascertained, one always remaining
in Jerrnyn Street while the other was away. The man
they were watching had gone out every evening, but it
was either to one or the other of the clubs to which he
belonged, or to the theater or opera.

" You will trace him to the right place presently,
Roberts," Hilda said cheerfully, when she saw that he
was beginning to be disheartened at the non-success of
his search. " You may be sure that he will not go to see
these men oftener than he can help. Does he generally
wear evening clothes ? "

" Always, miss."

" I don't think there is any occasion to follow him
in future when he goes out in that dress; I think it cer-
tain that when he goes to meet these men he will be in
disguise. When you see him come out dressed altogether
differently to usual, follow him closely. Even if we only
find where he goes it will be a very important step."

On the seventh week after the disappearance of "Wal-
ter, Mr. Pettigrew came in one morning at eleven o'clock.
His air was very grave.

" Have you heard news, Mr. Pettigrew? " Hilda asked.

" I have very bad news. Mr. Comfrey, a lawyer of
not the highest standing, who is, I have learnt, acting

176

VERT BAD NEWS. HI

for this fellow, called upon. me. He said, c I am sorry
to say that I have some painful news to give you, Mr.
Pettigrew. Yesterday the body of a child, a boy Bome
six or seven years old, was found in the canal at Pad-
dington. It was taken to the lockhouse. The features
were entirely unrecognizable, and the police surgeon who
examined it said that it had been in the water over a
month. Most of its clothing was gone, partly torn off
by barges passing over the body; but there still remained
a portion of its underclothing, and this bore the letters
W. ii. The police recognized them as those of the child
who has been so largely advertised for, and, as my client,
Mr. Simcoe, had offered a thousand pounds reward, and
as all information was to be sent to me, a policeman came
down, just as I was closing the office, to inform me of the
fact.

" ' I at once communica ted with my client, who was
greatly distressed. He went to Paddington the first
thing this morning, and he tells me that he has no
doubt whatever that the remains are those of Walter
Eivington, although he could not swear to his identity,
as the features are 'altogether "unrecognizable. As I un-
derstand, sir, that you and Miss Covington were the
guardians of this unfortunate child, I have driven here
at once in order that you may go up and satisfy your-
selves on the subject. I understand that an inquest will
be held to-morrow.' "

Hilda had not spoken while Mr. Pettigrew was telling
his story, but sat speechless with horror.

"It cannot be; surely it cannot be!" she murmured.
" Oh, Mr. Pettigrew! say that you cannot believe it."

" I can hardly say that, my dear; the whole affair is
such a terrible one that I can place no bounds whatever
to the villainy of which this man may be capable. This
may be the missing child, but, on the other hand, it may
be only a part of the whole plot."

" But who else can it be if it has Walter's clothes on? "

" As to that I can say nothing; but you must re-
member that this man is an extraordinarily adroit

178 TEE LOST HEIR.

plotter, and would hesitate at nothing to secure this in-
heritance. There would be no very great difficulty in ob-
taining from some rascally undertaker the body of a child
of the right age, dressing him up in some of our ward's
clothes, and dropping the body into the canal, which may
have been done seven weeks ago, or may have been done
but a month. Of course I do not mean to say that this
was so. I only mean to say that it is possible. No. I
expressed my opinion, when we talked it over before,
that no sensible man would put his neck in a noose if
he could carry out his object without doing so; and mur-
der could hardly be perpetrated without running a very
great risk, for the people with whom the child was placed
would, upon missing it suddenly, be very likely to _ sus-
pect that it had been made away with, and would either
denounce the crime or extort money by holding a threat
over his head for years."

" Yes, that may be so! " Hilda exclaimed, rising tocher
feet. "Let us go and see at once. I will take Netta
with me; she knows him as well as I do."

She ran upstairs and in a few words told Netta the
news, and in five minutes they came down, ready to start.
" I have told Walter's nurse to come with us," Hilda
said. "If anyone can recognize the child she ought to
be able to do so. Fortunately, she is still in the house."
"Now, young ladies," the lawyer said before they
started, " let me caution you, unless you feel a moderate
certainty that this child is Walter Eivington, make no
admission whatever that you see any resemblance. If
the matter comes to a trial, your evidence and mine can-
not but weigh with the court as against that of this man
who is interested in proving its identity with Walter.
Of course, if there is any sign or mark on the body that
you recognize, you will acknowledge it as the body of
our ward. We shall then have to fight the case on other
grounds. But unless you detect some unmistakable
mark, and it is extremely unlikely that you will do so
in the state the body must be in, confine yourself to
simply stating that you fail to recognize it in any way."

VERY BAD NEWS. 179

" There never was any mark on the poor child's body,"
Hilda said. "I have regretted it so much, because, in
the absence of any descriptive marks, the chance of his
ever being found was, of course, much lessened."

The lawyer had come in a four-wheeled cab, and in
this the party all took their places. Not a word was
spoken on the way, except that Hilda repeated what
Mr. Pettigrew had said to the nurse. It was with very
white faces that they entered the lockhouse. The little
body was lying on a board supported by two trestles.
It was covered by a piece of sailcloth, and the tattered
garments that it had had on were placed on a chair
beside it. Prepared as she was for something dreadful,
the room swam round, and had Hilda not been leaning
on Mr. Pettigrew's arm she would have fallen. There
was scarce a semblance of humanity in the little figure.
The features of the face had been entirely obliterated,
possibly by the passage of barges, possibly by the work of
simple decay.

"Courage, my dear!" Mr. Pettigrew said. "It is a
painful duty, but it must be performed."

The three women stood silent beside the little corpse.
Netta was the first to speak.

" I cannot identify the body as that of Walter Eiving-
ton," she said. " I don't think that it would be possible
for anyone to do so."

"Is the hair of the same color?" the policeman who
was in charge of the room asked.

" The hair is rather darker than his," Netta said;
* but being so long in the water, and in such dirty water,
it might have darkened."

" That was never Master Walter's hair! " the nurse
exclaimed. " The darling had long, soft hair, and unless
those who murdered him cut it short, it would not be
like this. Besides, this hair is stiffer. It is more like
the hair of a workhouse child than Master Walter's."

" That is so," Hilda said. " I declare that I not only
do not recognize the body as that of my ward, but that
I am convinced it is not his."

180 TEE LOST HEIR.

"Judging only by the hair," Mr. Pettigrew said, "I
am entirely of your opinion, Miss Covington. I have
stroked the child's head many times, and his hair was like
silk. I have nothing else to go by, and am convinced that
the body is not Walter Kivington's."

They then looked at the fragments of clothes. In two
places they were marked " W. K."

" That is my marking, miss," the nurse said, after
closely examining the initials. " I could not swear to
the bits of clothes, but I can to the letters. You see,
miss, I always work a line above the letters and another
below them. I was taught to do it so when I was a girl in
our village school, and I have always done it since. But
I never saw anyone else mark them so. You see the
letters are worked in red silk, and the two lines in white.
The old woman who taught us said that it made a
proper finish to the work. Yes, Miss Covington, I can
swear to these things being Master Walter's."

" You could not swear to their being those in which
he went out the morning he was lost, nurse?"

" I can, sir, because there is nothing missing except
what he had on. I have all his things properly counted,
and everything is there."

At this moment there was a little stir outside, and
Hilda glanced down and whispered to Netta:

" Let down your fall; I do not want this man to recog-
nize you."

Just as she did so John Simcoe entered. He bowed to
Hilda.

" I am sorry, indeed, to meet you under such painful
circumstances."

" I beg you not to address me, sir," she said haughtily.
" I wish to have no communication with or from you.
Your coming here reminds me of the thirty-seventh
verse of the nineteenth chapter of St. John. You can
look it out, sir, if you happen to have a Bible at home.
Fortunately it is not wholly applicable, for we are all
absolutely convinced that this poor little body is not
that of General Mathieson's grandson."

VERY BAD NEWS. 181

So saying she stepped out of the little house, fol-
lowed by the others; leaving John Simcoe white with
passion.

" You should not have shown your hand so plainly,
Miss Covington."

" I could not help it," the girl said. " He has called
a dozen times at the house and has always received the
message, ' Not at home,' and he must know that I suspect
him of being Walter's abductor."

""What is the verse you referred him to, Hilda?"
-Netta said. " I confess that I do not know any verse in.
St. John that seems to be at all applicable to him."

" The quotation is, ' They shall look on Him whom
they pierced.' "

Netta could not help smiling. Mr. Pettigrew shook his
head.

" You are really too outspoken, Miss Covington, and
you will get yourself into trouble. As it is, you have
clearly laid yourself open to an action for libel for
having practically called the man a murderer. We
may think what we like, but we are in no position to
prove it."

" I am not afraid of that," she said. " I wish that
he would do it; then we should have all the facts brought
out in court, and, even if we could not, as you say, prove
everything, we could at least let the world know what
we think. Xo, there is no chance of his doing that, Mr.
Pettigrew."

" It is fortunate for us, Miss Covington, that our
clients are for the most part men. Y"our sex are so
impetuous and so headstrong that we should have a
hard time of it indeed if we had to take our instructions
from them."

" Mr. Pettigrew, you will please remember that there
are three of my sex in this cab, and if you malign us in
this way we will at once get out and walk."

The old lawyer smiled indulgently.

" It is quite true, my dear. Women are always pas-
sionately certain that they are right, and neither counsel

!82 , THE LOST HEIR.

nor entreaty can get them to believe that there can be
any other side tc a case than that which they take, lalk
about men ruining themselves by litigation; the number
that do so is as nothing to that of the women who would
do so, were they to get as often involved m lawsuits!
When Dickens drew the man who haunted the courts
he would have been much nearer the mark had he drawn
the woman who did so. You can persuade a man that
when he has been beaten in every court his case is a
lost one: but a woman simply regards a hostile decision
as the effect either of great partiality or of incompetence
on the part of the judge, and even after being beaten m
the House of Lords will attend the courts and pester the
judges with applications for the hearing of some new
Points. It becomes a perfect mania with some of them.

"Very well Mr. Pettigrew. I would certainly carry
my case up to the highest court, and if I were beaten I
would not admit that I was in the wrong; still, I do not
think that I should pester the poor old judges after that.
I suppose we shall all have to come up again to-morrow
to the inquest?" • . ', , T

" Certainly. Nurse has recognized the clothes, and 1
suppose you all recognize the marks Miss Covington?

"Yes; I have no doubt whatever that the clothes are

W"Of course we shall be represented by counsel," Mr.
Pettigrew went on. "We must not let the mry find
that this is Walter's body if we can possibly pre-
vent it." . '

" You think that they will do so?

«I am afraid of it. They wnl know nothing of the
real circumstances of the case; they will only know that
the child has been missing for nearly two months, and
that, in spite of large rewards no > news has been
obtained of him. They will see that this child is about
the same age, that the clothes in which it was found
are thoTe woJn by the missing boy. They will hem-
selves have viewed the body and have seen that identifl-
Son is almost impossible. This man will give his evi-

VERT BAD NEWS. 183

dence to the effect that he believes it to be "Walter Riv-
ington's body. We shall give it as our opinion that it
is not; that opinion being founded upon the fact that the
few patches of hair left on the head are shorter and
coarser than this was. To us this may appear decisive,
but the counsel who will, no doubt, appear for Simcoe,
will very legitimately say this fact has no weight, and
will point out that no real judgment can be formed upon
this. The child was missing — probably stolen for the
sake of its clothes. Seeing the description in the hand-
bills and placards, the first step would be to cut off its
hair, which disposes of the question of length, and, as
he will point out, hair which, when very long, seems
soft and silky, will stand up and appear almost bristly
when cropped close to the head. I am afraid that, in the
face of all that we can say, the coroner's jury will find
that the body is Walter's. As to the cause of death they
will probably give an open verdict, for even if the sur-
geon has found any signs of violence upon the body,
these may have been inflicted by passing barges long after
death."

" Will you have it brought forward that Simcoe has
an interest in proving the body to be Walter's?"

" I think not. There would be no use in beginning the
fight in the coroner's court. It will all have to be gone
into when he applies to the higher courts for an order
on the trustees of the will to proceed to carry out its
provisions. Then our case will be fully gone into. We
shall plead that in the first place the will was made
under undue influence. We shall point to the singularity
of the General's mysterious attack, an attack which one
of the doctors who attended him at once put down to
poison, and that at the moment of the attack Simcoe
was sitting next to him at dinner. We shall point to
the extraordinary coincidence that the child who stood
between Simcoe and the inheritance disappeared on the
evening when the General was in extremis, and, lastly,
we shall fire our last shot by declaring that the man is not
the John Simcoe named in the will, but is an impostor who

184 THE LOST HEIR.

assumed his name and traded upon his brave action on
the General's behalf.

" But I do not want the fight to begin until we are
in a better position than at present to prove what we
say. As yet, however satisfactory to us, we have not
got beyond the point of conjecture and probabilities, and
I trust that, before we have to fight the case, we shall
obtain some absolute facts in support of our theory.
The man would be able at present to put into court a
number of highly respectable witnesses from Stow-
market, and of officers he has met here, who would all
testify to his being John- Simcoe, and as against their
evidence our conjectures would literally go for nothing.
No doubt you will all receive notices to attend this
evening. The policeman took your names and addresses,
and will have told the officer in charge of the case the
nature of the evidence you will probably give. And
please remember that, in giving evidence, you must care-
fully abstain from saying anything that would lead the
jury to perceive that you have any personal feeling
against Simcoe, for they would be likely to put down
your declaration of inability to recognize the body as a
result of a bias against him. Do not let it be seen that
there is any personal feeling in the matter at all."

The summonses arrived that evening and the next
morning they drove to the coroner's court, Miss Purcell
accompanying them. They found Mr. Pettigrew await-
ing them at the door.

" There is another case on before ours," he said, " and
I should advise you to take a drive for half an hour,
and, when you come back, to sit in the carriage until
I come for you. The waiting room is a stuffy little
place, and is at present full of witnesses in the case now
on, and as that case is one of a man killed in a drunken
row, they are not of a class whom it is pleasant to mix
with."

"When they returned, he again came out. " I have
just spoken to the coroner and told him who you are,
and he has kindly given permission for you to go up

VERY BAD NEWS. 185

to his own room. The case he has now berore him may
last another half hour."

It was just about that time when Mr. Pettigrew came
up and said that their case was about to commence,
and that they must go down and take their places in
court. This was now almost empty; a few minutes before
it had been crowded by those interested in the proceed-
ings, which had terminated in the finding of manslaughter
against four of those concerned in the fray. The dis-
covery of a child's body in the canal was far too common
an event to afford any attraction, and with the exception
of the witnesses, two counsel seated in the front line
facing the coroner, and two or three officials, there was
no one in court. As soon as the little stir caused by the
return of the jury from viewing the body had ceased,
the coroner addressed them.

" We shall now, gentlemen of the jury, proceed to the
case of the body of the child said to be that of Walter
Rivington, which was found under very strange and sus-
picious circumstances near this end of the canal. You
will hear that the child was missing from his home in
Hyde Park Gardens on the 23d of October, and for his
discovery, as some of you are doubtless aware, large sums
have been offered. The day before yesterday the drags
were used for the purpose of discovering whether another
child, who was lost, and who had been seen going near
the bank, had been drowned. In the course of that
search this body was brought up. You have already
viewed it, gentlemen. Dr. Macllvaine will tell you that
it has certainly been a month in the water, perhaps two
or three weeks longer. Unfortunately the state of the
body is such that it is impossible now to ascertain the
cause of death, or whether it was alive when it fell in, or
was placed in, the water. Fortunately some of its clothes
still remain on the body, and one of the witnesses, the
nurse of the missing boy, will tell you that the marks
upon them were worked by herself, and that she can
swear to them. Whether any other matters will come
before vou in reference to the case, which, from the fact

186 THE LOST HEIR.

that the child was grandson of the late General Mathie-
son and heir to his property, has attracted much atten-
tion, I cannot say. The first witness you will hear is the
lock-keeper, who was present at the finding of the
body."

Before the witness was called, however, one of the
counsel rose and said:

"I am instructed, sir, to appear to watch the pro-
ceedings on behalf of Mr. John Simcoe, who, by the death
of Walter Rivington, inherits under the will of the late
General Mathieson."

The coroner bowed. The other counsel then rose.

" And I, sir, have been instructed by Mr. Pettigrew
and Colonel Bulstrode, the trustees under the will, the
former gentleman being also joint guardian with Miss
Hilda Covington of the missing child, to watch the case
on their behalf."

There was again an exchange of bows, and the lock-
keeper then entered the box. His evidence was given
in few words. He simply deposed to assisting in drag-
ging the canal, and to the finding of the body.

"Have you any questions to ask the witness?" the
coroner said, turning to the barristers.

The counsel employed by Mr. Pettigrew rose.

" Yes, sir; I have a few questions to ask. Now, Mr.
Cousins, you say that you took part in dragging the canal.
You are in charge of the drags, are you not ? "

" Yes, sir; they are always kept in readiness at the
lockhouse."

"How came you to use the drags? I suppose you
don't take them down and spend a day or two in drag-
ging the canal unless you have reason for supposing that
a body is there."

" No, sir. The afternoon before a woman came up
crying and said that her child had fallen into the water.
He had gone out in the morning to play, and when
dinner-time came and he didn't return she searched
everywhere for him, and two children had just told her
that they were playing with him on the bank of the

VERT BAD NEWS. 187

canal, and that he had fallen in. They tried to get him
out, but he sank, and they were so frightened that they
ran home without saying anything. But they thought
now that they had better tell. I said that she had
better go to the police station and repeat her statement,
and they would send a constable to help me. She did
that, and came back with the policeman. It was getting
late then, but we took a boat and dragged the canal for
two or three hours. The next morning she came again,
and said that the boys had shown her just where her
child fell in, and we dragged there and found this body.
TVe brought it ashore, and after we had carried it to the
lockhouse we set to work again, but could not find any
other body."

" What became of the woman? "

" She was with us till we fetched up this body. When
6he saw it she ran away crying, and did not come back
again."

" You have not seen her since, Mr. Cousins? "

" Xo, sir; I have not seen her since. I believe the con-
stable made inquiries about her."

" Thank you, I have nothing more to ask."

The policeman then entered the box and gave his evi-
dence shortly, as to assisting in the operation of drag-
ging and to finding the body.

" About this woman who gave the alarm," the barris-
ter asked. "Have you seen her, constable?"

" No, sir; not since the body was found. Thinking
it strange that she did not come back, I reported it at
the station. She had given the name of Mary Smith
and an address in Old Park. I was told to go round
there, but no such person was known, and no one had
heard of a child being lost. On my reporting this, in-
quiries were made all round the neighborhood; but
no one had heard of such a woman, nor of a missing
child."

" This is a very strange circumstance, sir, and it looks
as if the whole story of the drowning child was a fabrica-
tion. The fact that the body of the child whose death

18h THE L0S1 HEIR.

we are considering was found close 10 the spot would
certainly seem to point to the fact that some person or
persons who were cognizant of the fact that this body
was there were for some reasons anxious that it should
be found, and so employed this woman to get the drags
used at that point in order that the body might be
brought to light."

" It is certainly a very strange business," the coroner
said, " aud I hope that the police will spare no efforts to
discover this woman. However, as she is not before us,
we must proceed with the case."

Then the officer of the court called out the name of
Mary Summerford, and the nurse went into the witness
box.

'■ I understand, Mary Sommerford, that you were nurse
to "Walter Eivington?"

"I was, sir."

" Will you tell the jury when you last saw him, and
how it was that he was lost ? "

She told the story as ^he had told it to Hilda on the
day that he was missing.

" You have seen the clothes found on the body. Do
you recognize them as those that he was wearing when
you last saw him ? "

" Yes, sir."

" How do you recognize them ? "

" Because his initials are worked in two places. I
worked them myself, and can swear to them."

"You cannot recognize the body, nurse?"

" I do not believe it is the body of my young master,"
she said; " his hair was lovely — long and silky. What
hair remains on the body is very short, and what I should
call stubbly."

" But the hair might have been cut short by the people
who stole him," the coroner said. " It is the first pre-
caution they would take to evade the search that would
at once be set on foot."

'• Yes. sir, but I don't think that it would have grown
up so stiff."

VERT BAB NEWS. 189

" My experience of workhouse children," the eoroner
rehiarked, " is that whatever the hair they may have
had when they entered the house, it is stiff enough to
stand upright when cut close to the head. There is
nothing else, is there, which leads you to doubt the
identity of the child?"

" No, sir, I cannot say that there is; but I don't be-
lieve that it is Master Walter's body."

Hilda, Netta, and Mr. Pettigrew all gave their evi-
dence. The two former stated that they identified the
clothes, but, upon the same ground as the nurse, they
failed to recognize the body as that of Walter Riving-
ton. All were asked if they could in any way account
for the finding of the child's body there. The question
had been foreseen, and they said that, although they had
used every means of discovering the child, they had
obtained no clew whatever as to his whereabouts from
the time that he was stolen to the time they were sum-
moned to identify the body.

" You quite assume that he was stolen, and not that
he wandered away, as children will do when their nurses
are gossiping?"

" We are convinced that he was stolen, sir, because
the search was begun so momentarily after he was missed
that he could hardly have got out of sight, had he merely
wandered away on foot. Notice was given to the police
an hour after he disappeared, and every street in this
part of London was scoured immediately."

" Children of that age, Miss Covington, have often a
fancy for hiding themselves; and this child may have
hidden somewhere close until he saw his nurse pass by,
and then made off in the opposite direction. The spot
where the child's body was found is little more than a
quarter of a mile from the corner where he was missed.
He might have wandered up there, found himself on
the canal bank, and childlike, have begun to play, and so
slipped into the water."

John Simcoe was the last witness called. He gave
his evidence to the effect that he had seen the body, and

190 TEE LOST HEIR.

that personally he saw no reason to doubt that it was
that of Walter Rivington.

His counsel then rose.

" You are, I believe, Mr. Simcoe, owing to the death of
this poor child, the principal legatee under the will of
General Mathieson?"

" I am sorry to say that I am. The whole business
has caused me immense distress. I have felt that, being
the only person that would benefit by the child's death,
those who did not know me would have a suspicion that I
might have had a hand in his mysterious disappearance."

" You have taken an active part in the search for
him? "

" I offered a reward of one thousand pounds for
any information that would lead to his discovery, and
I believe that I have traveled up and down every
obscure slum in London in hopes of lighting upon
him."

" Even without the provision in the will which made
you next heir you benefited by it, did you not?"

" I did, most munificently. General Mathieson had
himself informed me that I should find, by his will, that
he had not been ungrateful for a service that I rendered
him many years ago; but I was not aware of the sum
that he had left me. As to the distant contingency of
inheriting in case of the child's death, I was altogether
ignorant of it; but had I known it, it would in no way
have affected me. The little fellow was a fine healthy
child, and, therefore, the thought that he might not
live to come of age would never have entered my mind."

As the other counsel had no question to ask, the evi-
dence was now concluded.

" Well, gentlemen, you have heard the evidence," the
coroner said. " Dr. Macllvaine has told you, as indeed
you might judge for yourselves on viewing the body, that
it is impossible, in its advanced state of decomposition,
to say whether the child was alive or dead at the time
he fell, or was placed in the canal. As to who were the
guilty persons who beguiled the child away, if he was

VERY BAD NEWS. 19S

beguiled, we have no shadow of evidence, and it may well
be that he was stolen for the sake of his clothes. The
cutting short of his hair certainly points to the truth of
this theory, as does also the fact that no vestige has been
found of his upper clothing. It is probable that some
woman enticed him away, and kept him for some time
with her, and then, when she became alarmed by the
search made for him, carried him in his sleep from the
house, and perhaps laid him down by the canal, thinking
that he would be found there in the morning, and that
the poor child awoke in the dark, wandered about, and
fell into the canal.

" However, this is only theory; but it is at least
supported by the mysterious incident of the unknown
woman who, by means of a tale which appears beyond
doubt to have been wholly fictitious, caused the water
at that spot to be dragged. The fact that on the second
day she pointed out almost the exact point where the
body was found would seem to show that the child could
scarcely have fallen in the water, as she suggested, for
in that case she could not have known the precise spot.
It would seem, then, more likely that either the child
died a natural death, perhaps from confinement or bad
treatment, or possibly that, terribly alarmed at the search
that was being maintained, he was put out of the way
and then thrown into the canal at this spot. In that
case we may admit that it is certainly strange that she
should risk discovery by the course she took, and I can
only account for it on the ground that she had boon,
ever since his death, suffering from remorse, and potesibly
6he may have thought that she might in some sort of way
atone for her conduct were she to point out where the
child was, and so secure for him Christian burial. That,
hov over, is not before us at present, and I see no ad-
vantage in an adjournment for an indefinite time until
this mystery is solved. The police have taken the matter
in hand, and will spare no pains to discover the woman.
If they do so, undoubtedly proceedings will be taken in
another court. The point that we have to consider is who

192 THE LOST HEIR.

this child was, and how he came to his death. Unfortu-
nately we are absolutely without any evidence of what
became of him from the time he got lost up to the dis-
covery of his body, and I think that you cannot do other-
wise than find an open verdict.

" As to the question of identity, there can, I think, be
no shadow of doubt. The clothes in which he was found
prove him beyond question to have been Walter Riving-
ton, although the body itself is absolutely beyond identi-
fication. I do not think that you need give any weight to
the nurse's failure to recognize him, or to her opinion
about the hair. She is naturally reluctant to acknowl-
edge, even to herself, that the child which was lost by
her inadvertence is dead, and the ladies would be equally
reluctant to admit that all hope was over."

The jury put their heads together, and there was evi-
dently no difference of opinion, for in two or three min-
utes they sat down again and the foreman stood up.

"You have decided on your verdict?" the coroner
asked.

" We have, sir. We find that the body is that of Walter
Rivington, and that he was found dead in the canal, but
how he came there and by what means he came by his
death, there is no evidence to show."

" Thank you, gentlemen; that is precisely the verdict
that I should myself have given."

CHAPTER XVI.

A FEESH CLEW.

"Just the verdict that I expected," Mr. Pettigrew said,
as he and the ladies issued from the courthouse.

" I suppose that it is for the best, Mr. Pettigrew, but it
Beems hard, when we could have said so much, to be
obliged to hold our tongues altogether."

" No doubt you will have an opportunity later on, Miss
Covington. Our tongues are tied until we can obtain
some sort of proof to go upon. We cannot go into court
with merely suspicions; we must get facts. All we have
done at present is to obtain some sort of foundation on
which to work; but facts we shall, I hope, get ere long
from what we may discover of this fellow's movements.
He is likely to be less careful now that it has been de-
cided that Walter is dead. He is doubtless well aware of
the fact that trustees have a year given them before pro-
ceeding to carry out the provisions of a will, and, there-
fore, for that time he will keep quiet. At the end of the
year his solicitor will write us a courteous letter, asking
when we shall be in a position to distribute the estate in
accordance with the provisions of the will. We shall
reply that we are not in a position to do so. Then, after
a time, will come letters of a mere and more peremptory
character, and at last a notice that they are about to
apply to the courts for an order for us to act upon
the provisions of the will. About two years after the
General's death the matter will probably come on. I
may say that I have already sent checks to all the small
legatees.''

" Thank you, I was aware of that, because Tom Roberts
came to me yesterday with his check for two hund^d

294 THE LOST HEIR.

pounds, and said, " Look here, Miss Covington; you said
you meant to keep me on just the same as in the Gen-
eral's time, so this won't be of any use to me, and I
should, like to spend it in any way that you tlfmk best
to find out what has become of Master Walter.' Of course
I told him that the money could not be spent in that way,
and that the work that he was doing was of far greater
use than ten times that sum would be."

" I will send you your check to-morrow, Miss Coving-
ton. The sum we have paid to the people who have
been searching, .and all other expenses that may be
incurred, will, of course, come out of the estate. You
have not as yet settled, I suppose, as to your future
plans ? "

" jSTo, except that I shall certainly keep on the house
in Hyde Park Gardens for the present. It is, of course,
ridiculously large for me, but I don't want the trouble of
making a move until I make one permanently, and shall
therefore stay here until this matter is finally cleared
up. Miss Purcell has most kindly consented to remain
as my chaperon, and her plans and those of her niece will
depend upon mine."

They had sent away their carriage when they entered
the court, and they walked quietly home, Mr. Pettigrew
returning at once to his office. The next morning Tom
Roberts accosted Hilda as she entered the breakfast
room, with a face that showed he had news.

" We have traced him down to one of his places at
last, miss. I said to Andrew, ' We must keep a special
sharp look out to-night, for like enough, now that the
inquest is over, he will be going to talk over the matter
ith his pals.' Well, miss, last night, at half-past nine,
at he comes. He wasn't in evening dress, for although,
as usual, he had a topcoat on, he had light trousers and
walking boots. He did not turn the usual way, but
went up into Piccadilly. We followed him. I kept close
behind him, and Andrew at a distance, so that he should
not notice us together. At the Circus he hailed a- cab,
and as he got in I heard him say to the driver, ' King's

A FRESH CLEW. 195

Cross Station/ As soon as he had gone off Andrew and I
jumped into another cab, and told the man to drive to
the same place, and that we would give him a shilling
extra if he drove sharp.

" He did drive sharp, and I felt sure that we had got
there before our man. I stopped outside the entrance,
Andrew went inside. In five minutes he arrived, paid
the driver his fare, and went in. I had agreed to wait
two or three minutes outside, while Andrew was to be
at the ticket office to see where he booked for. I was
just going in when, to my surprise, out the man came
again and walked briskly away. I ran in and fetched
Andrew, and off we went after him. He hadn't more
than a minute's start, and we were nearly up to him by
the time he had got down to the main road. We kept
behind him until we saw him go up Pentonville Hill,
then Andrew went on ahead of him and I followed.
We agreed that if he looked back, suspicious, I should
drop behind. Andrew, when he once got ahead, was to
keep about the same distance in front of him, so as to
be able to drop behind and take it up instead of me, while
I was to cross over the road if I thought that he had dis-
covered I was following him.

" However, it did not seem to strike him that anyone
was watching him, and he walked on briskly until he
came to a small house standing by itself, and as he
turned in we were in time to see that the door was
opened to him by a man. Andrew and I consulted. I
went in at the gate, took my shoes off, and went round
the house. There was only a light in one room, which
looked as if there were no servants. The curtains were
pulled together inside, and I could see nothing of what
was going on. He stopped there for an hour and a half,
then came out again, hailed a cab halfway down the hill,
and drove off. Andrew and I had compared Avatches, and
he had gone back to Jermyn Street, so that we should be
aWe to know by the time the chap arrived whether he
had gone anywhere else on his way back. When I joined
him I found that the man must driven straight to the

196 TEE LOST HEIR.

Circus and xhen got out, for he walked in just twenty
minutes after I had seen him start."

" That is good news indeed, Eoherts. We will go and
see Mr. Pettigrew directly after breakfast. Please order
the carriage to be round at a quarter to ten."

Netta was as pleased as her friend when she heard that
a step had been made at last.

" I am sick of this inaction," she said, " and want to
be doing something towards getting to the bottom of
the affair. I do hope that we shall find some way in which
I can be useful."

" I have no doubt at all that you will be very useful
when we get fairly on the track. I expect that this will
lead to something." .

After Tom Roberts had- repeated his story to Mr. Petti-
grew, Hilda said:

"I brought Roberts with me, Mr. Pettigrew, that he
might tell the story in his own way. It seems to me
that the best thing now would be to employ a private
detective to find out who the man is who lives in Rose
Cottage. This would be out of the line of Tom Roberts
and Colonel Bulstrode's servant altogether. They would
not know how to set about making inquiries, whereas a
detective would be at home at such work."

" I quite agree with you," the lawyer said. " To make
inquiries without exciting suspicion requires training and
practice. An injudicious question might lead to this man
being warned that inquiries were being made about him
and might ruin the matter altogether. Of course your two
men will still keep up their watch. It may be that we
shall find it is of more use to follow the track of this man
than the other. But you must not be too sanguine; the
man at Rose Cottage may be an old acquaintance of
Simcoe. Well, my dear," he went on, in answer to a
decided shake of the head on Hilda's part, "you must
call the man by the only name that he is known by,
although it may not belong to him. I grant that the
manner in which he drove into King's Cross station and
then walked out on foot would seem to show that he was

A FRESH CLEW. 197

anxious to throw anyone who might be watching him
off the scent, and that the visit was, so to speak, a
clandestine one. But it may relate to an entirely different
matter; for this man may be, for aught we know, an
adept in crime, and may be in league with many other
doubtful characters."

" It may be so, Mr. Pettigrew, but we will hope
not."

" Very well, my dear," the lawyer said. " I will send
fot a trustworthy man at once, and set him to work
collecting information regarding the occupant of the cot-
tage. And now I have a point upon which I wish to ask
your opinion. I have this morning received a letter from
this man's solicitor, asking if we intend to undertake
the funeral of the body which the coroner's jury have
found to be that of Walter Eivington; and announcing
that, if we do not, his client will himself have it carried
out."

" What do you think, l\lr. Pettigrew? " Hilda said hesi-
tatingly. " We may be wrong, you know, and it may be
Walter's body."

" I have been thinking it over," the lawyer replied,
" and I must say it is my opinion that, as we have all
stated our conviction that it is not, we should only stultify
ourselves if we now undertook the funeral and put a
stone, with his name on, over the grave. If we should at
any time become convinced that we have been wrong,- we
can apply for a faculty to remove the coffin to the family
Vault down in Warwickshire."

" If we could do that I should not mind," Hilda said;
"but even the possibility of Walter being buried by the
man who we firmly believe was the cause of his death is
terrible."

" Yes, I can quite understand your feelings, but I think
that it is necessary that the family should make a protest
against its being supposed that they recognize the child,
by declining to undertake the funeral. No protest could
well be stronger."

" If you think that, Mr. Pettigrew, we certainly had

198 THE LOST HEIR.

best stand aside and let that poor child be buried by
this man."

Two days later they were driving in the Eow. It was
Hilda's first appearance there since the General's death,
and, after talking it over with Netta, she now appeared
there in order to show that she was perfectly convinced
that the child which had been found in the ^anal was
not her little cousin. The details of the proceedings of
the coroner's court had, of course, been read by all her
friends, and her appearance in the park would be the
best proof that she could give that the family were
absolutelv convinced that the body was not that of
Walter.

Miss Purcell and Netta were with her. The latter had
on, as usual, a thick veil. This she always wore when
driving through any locality where she might meet John
Simcoe.

" That is the man," Hilda said to her in a sharp tone;
" the farther of those two leaning on the rail the other
side of the road."

As Hilda fixed her eyes on the man she saw him give
a sudden movement. Then he said to the man next to
him:

" Do you see that girl in deep mourning? It is that
little vixen, Hilda Covington. Confound her, she is at
the bottom of all this trouble, and I believe she would
give ten thousand out of her own pocket to check-
mate me."

The carriage was opposite to them now. Hilda looked
straight in front of her, while Netta, who was sitting with
her back to the horses, took up the watch.

" She would have to be sharp indeed to do that," the
other man said. " So far everything has gone without a
hitch, and I don't see a single weak point in your case.
The most troublesome part has been got over."

And now some carriages going the other way cut off
the view, and Netta could read no further. She drew ai
long breath as Hilda's eyes turned towards her.

" What did you read? " the latter asked.

A FRESH CLEW. 199

Netta repeated what she had caught, and then Hilda
took up the conversation.

" It is quite evident that this man, whoever he is, is
an accomplice. He is a gentlemanly-looking man, and I
fancy that he sat in the stalls near to us one evening this
spring. However, it is quite clear that he is a confederate
of Simcoe. Just repeat his words over again. They were
in answer to his remark that I would give ten thousand
pounds to be able to checkmate him."

Netta repeated the answer of Simcoe's companion.

" You see, Netta, there is something to find out that
would checkmate him; that is quite evident. He thinks
that I cannot find it out. It must be, I should think,
that Walter is kept in hiding somewhere. It could not
mean that he had killed my uncle, for he would hardly
tell that to anyone, and so put himself in their power."

" It may mean that you cannot find out that he is not
John Simcoe," Netta suggested.

" Possibly; but he cannot know we suspect that."

" It might be about the last will, Hilda."

The latter shook her head.

" We have never thought that there could bft anything
wrong about it. The will was drawn up by Colonel
Bulstrode's lawyers, and they knew my uncle by sight;
besides, all the legacies were exactly the same as in the
other will, the signature and the written instructions
were in his handwriting, and he signed it in the solicitor's
office in the presence of two of their clerks. No, I don't
think he can possibly mean that. It must be either
Walter's abduction or that he is not John Simcoe, and I
should say that the former is much the more likely. You
see, he had no need of an accomplice in the matter of
getting evidence as to identity, whereas he did need an
accomplice in the carrying off of Walter. I -nould say
that he is far too clever a man to let anyone into any of
his secrets, unless he needed his assistance. I wonder
who the man with him can be. He is dressed in good
style, and I have certainly met him somewhere. I be-
lieve, as I said, it was at the opera. I should have thought

200 THE LOST HEIR.

that a man of that class is the last Simcoe would choose
as a confederate."

Miss Purcell looked from one to the other as they
talked. She had by this time been taken completely into
their confidence, but had refused absolutely to believe
that a man could be guilty of such wickedness as that
which they suspected. On their return home they found
a letter awaiting them from Mr. Pettigrew:

" My Deae Miss Covington [it ran] : My detective
has not yet finished his inquiries, but has at least dis-
covered that the proprietor of Eose Cottage, for-they say
that the place belongs to him, is somewhat of a mystery
to his neighbors. He lives there entirely alone. He goes
out regularly in a morning, it is supposed to some occu-
pation in the City. No tradesmen ever call at the door; it
is supposed that he brings home something for his break-
fast and cooks it for himself, and that he dines in the
City and makes himself a cup of tea in the evening, or
else that he goes out after dark. Sometimes, of summer
evenings, he has been seen to go out just at twilight,
dressed in full evening costume — that is to say, it is
supposed so, for he wore a light overcoat — but certainly a
white necktie, black trousers, and patent leather boots.
Of course, in all this there is nothing in itself absolutely
suspicious. A man engaged in the City would naturally
enough take his meals there, and may prefer to do every-
thing for himself to having the bother of servants. Also,
if his means permit it, he may like to go to theaters or
places of amusement, or may go out to visit business
friends. I have, of course, directed the detective to fol-
low him to town and find out what is his business, and
where employed. I will let you know result to-morrow."

The next day brought the letter.

" The man's name is William Barens. He has a small
office on the third floor of a house of business in Great
St. Helens,, and on the doorway below his name is the

A FRESH CLEW. 201

word * accountant/ The housekeeper knows nothing
about him, except that he has occupied the room for the
last twelve years, and that he is a gentleman who gives no
trouble. He always puts his papers away at night in his
safe, so that his table can be properly dusted. She knows
that he has clients, as several times, when he has beers
away for his dinner hour, she has been asked when he
would return. He is a well-spoken gentleman, though
not as particular about his dress as some; but liberal with
his money, and gives her as handsome a tip at Christmas
as some people who have three or four rooms, and, no
doubt, think themselves much finer people. This cer-
tainly does not amount to much. By the way, the old
woman said that she knew he was employed by several
tradesmen in the neighborhood to keep their books for
them."

Two days later there was another communication:

" My Dear Miss Covington: My man has taken a
step which I should certainly have forbidden, had he
told me beforehand of his intention. He watched the
man go out, and then, having previously provided
himself with instruments for picking locks, he opened the
door and went in. On the table were several heavy
ledgers and account books, all bearing the names of
tradesmen in the neighborhood, with several files of ac-
counts, bills, and invoices. These fully bore out whai)
the woman had told him. Besides the chairs, table, and
safe, the only other articles of furniture in the room were
an office washing stand and a large closet. In the latter,
were a dress suit and boots, and a suit of fashionable walk-
ing clothes, so that it is evident that he often changed
there instead of going home. I am sorry to say that all
this throws no further light upon the man's pursuits,
and had it not been for Simcoe's visit to him, it would be
safe to say that he is a hardworking accountant, in a
somewhat humble, but perhaps well-paying line; that he
is a trifle eccentric in his habits, and prefers living a

20? TEhl ZOST HEIR.

cheap, solitary life at home, while spending his money
freely in the character of a man about town in the even-
ing. I cannot say that the prospect in this direction
seems hopeful. I have told my man that for the present
we shall not require his services further."

" It does not seem very satisfactory, certainly/' Hilda
said with a sigh; " I am afraid that we shall have to
keep on watching Simcoe. I wish I could peep into his
room as this detective did into that of the Pentonville
man."

" I don't suppose that you would find anything there,
Hilda; he is not the sort of man to keep a memorandum
hook, jotting down all his own doings."

" No," Hilda said with a laugh; " still, one always
thinks that one can find something."

Had Hilda Covington had her wish and looked into
John Simcoe's room that morning, she would certainly
have derived some satisfaction from the sight. He had
finished his breakfast before opening a letter that lay
beside him.

" What a plague the old woman is with her letters! I
told her that I hated correspondence, but she persists in
writing every month or so, though she never gets any
reply except, ' My dear Aunt: Thanks for your letter.
I am glad to hear that you are well. — Your affectionate
nephew.' Well, I suppose I must read it through."

He glanced over the first page, but on turning to the
second his eye became arrested, and he read carefully,
frowning deeply as he did so. Then he turned back and.
read it again. The passage was as follows:

" I had quite an interesting little episode a day or two
after I last wrote. A young lady — she said her name was
Barcum, and that she was an artist — came in and asked
if I would take her in as a lodger. She was a total
stranger to the place, and had come down for her health,
and said that some tradesman had recommended her to
come here, saying that, as a single lady, I might be glad

A FRESH CLEW. 203

to accommodate her. Of course I told her that I did not
take lodgers. She got up to go, when she nearly fainted,
and I could not do less than offer her a cup of tea. Then
we got very chatty, and as I saw that she was really too
weak to pfo about town looking for lodgings, I invited
her to stay a day or two with me, she being quite a lady
and a very pleasant-spoken one. She accepted, and a
pleasanter companion I never had. Naturally I men-
tioned your name, and told her what adventures you had
gone through, and how kind you were. She was greatly
interested, and often asked questions about you, and I do
think that she almost fell in love with you from my de-
scription. She left suddenly on receipt of a letter that
called her up to town, saying that she would return; but
I have not heard from her since, and I am greatly afraid
that the poor child must be seriously ill. She was a
pretty and intelligent-looking girl, with dark eyes and
hair, and I should say that when in good health she must
be very bright. Of course, she may have changed her
mind about coming down. I am sure she would have
written if she had been well."

" Confound the old gossip! " John Simcoe said angrily,
as he threw the letter down. " I wonder what this means,
and who this' girl can be? It is clear enough that, who-
ever she is, she was sent down there to make inquiries
about me. It is that girl Covington's doing, I have no
doubt, though it was not the minx herself, for the de-
scription does not tally at all. She has light brown hair
and grayish sort of eyes. There is one comfort, she would
learn nothing to my disadvantage from the old woman,
nor, I believe, from anyone at Stowmarket. In fact, she
would only get more and mere confirmation of my story.
I have no fear upon that score, but the thing shows how
that girl 'is working on my track. As for the lawyer, he
is an old fool; and if it hadn't been for her I would bet a
hundred to one that he would never have entertained any
suspicion that all was not right. It is her doing all
through, and this is a piece of it. Of course she could

204 TEE LOST HEIR.

have no suspicion that I was not John Siniuoe, but I sup-
pose she wanted to learn if there was any dark spot in
my history — whether I had ever been suspected of rob-
bing a bank, or had been expelled from school for
thieving, or something of that sort. I begin to be down-
right afraid of her. She had a way of looking through
me, when I was telling my best stories to the General,
that always put me out. She disliked me from the first,
though I am sure I tried in every way to be pleasant to
her. I felt from the day I first saw her that she was an
enemy, and that if any trouble ever did come it would
be through her. I have no doubt she is moving heaven
and earth to find Walter; but that she will never do, for
Harrison is as true as steei, and he is the only man who
could put them on the right track. Moreover, I have
as much pull over him as he has over me. He has never
had a doubt about my being John Simcoe; he doesn't
know about the other affair, but only that Walter stood
between me and the estate, and he was quite ready to
lend me a hand to manage to get him out of the way.
So in that business he is in it as deep as I am, while I
know of a score of schemes he has been engaged in, any
one of which would send him abroad for life. I expect
those inquiries were made at Stowmarket to endeavor to
find out whether any child had been sent down there. If
so, Miss Covington is not so sharp as I took her to be.
Stowmarket would be the very last place where a man,
having relations and friends there, would send a child
whom he wished to keep concealed. Still it is annoying,
confoundedly annoying; and it shows that these people,
that is to say Hilda Covington, are pushing their in-
quiries in every direction, likely or unlikely.

" The only comfort is, the more closely they search
the sooner they will come to the conclusion that the boy
is not to be found. I believe that, though they declared
they did not recognize the body, they had no real doubt
about it, and they only said so because if they had ad-
mitted it, the trustees would have had no excuse for not
carrying out the provisions of the will. T^at +ext the

A FRESH CLEW. 205

girl had the impudence to quote to me looked as if she
believed the body was Walter's, and that I had killed him,
though it may be that she only said it to drive me to bring-
ing the whole business into court, by bringing an action
against her for libel; but I am not such a fool as to do that.
Just at present there is a lot of public feeling excited by
the circumstances of the child's loss and the finding of
the body, and even if I got a verdict I fancy that the
jury would be all on the girl's side, and give me such
trifling damages that the verdict would do me more harm
than good. No, our game clearly is to let the matter rest
until it has died out of the public mind. Then we shall
apply formally for the trustees to be called upon to act.
No doubt they will give us a great deal of trouble, but
Comfrey says that he thinks that the order must be
granted at last, though possibly it may be withheld, as
far as the estate is concerned, for some years. At any
rate I ought to get the ten thousand at once, as the ques-
tion whether the boy is alive or dead cannot affect that in
the slightest."

OHAPTEE XVII.

NETTA ACTS INDEPENDENTLY.

" It seems to me, Hilda, that somehow or other we
are wasting our time," Netta said one morning suddenly,
as they were sitting together.

"How do you mean, Netta?"

" Well, jrou see, we relied a great deal on being able to
overhear conversation from a distance; and, except those
few words we gathered in the Park, we have absolutely
done nothing that way."

" But how can we do more than we are doing? "

" I don't know; that is what is troubling me. You know,
dear, that I am quite content to give up my own work
to help you. At first, of course, aunt and I would have
stayed here, at any rate for a time, to keep you company;
but your uncle has been dead now for more than eight
months, and time is going on. If I were really helping
you I would stop, if it were five years; but in fact I am
not helping you in the way we intended."

"You are helping me, Netta!" Hilda exclaimed with
tears in her eyes. " How should I have got on through
all this sad time if you had not been here to comfort and
cheer me? "

" Yes, but the necessity for that is over. You have
your friends, and though you don't go out yet, you often
go to Lad}'- Moulton's and some of your other friends',
and they come to see you."

" Yes, and you will never go with me, Netta, nor see
them when they come."

" No, dear; I have nothing in common with them. I
do not know the people of whom you talk, and should
simply sit there uncomfortably, so I prefer to be out of it

VETTA ACTS INDEPENDENTLY. 207

altogether. Then I really miss my work. Ever since you
came to us some eight years ago I have heen teaching
eight or ten hours a day. I like the work; it is immensely
interesting, and I am happy in seeing my pupils improve."

" And all this means," "Jilda said sorrowfully, " you
are going to say that it is dme for you to go back."

" No, it does not necc ssarily mean that — there is an
alternative; I must either he doing something or go
back."

" But, as I said before, Netta, what can we do, more
than we have done?"

" That is what I have been thinking, Hilda. Anyhow,
I mean to try to do something before I give it up and
go to Germany again."

"I warn you, Netta, that I shall be furious if you do
that. I am my own mistress now, for Mr. Pettigrew will
let me do as I like now I am nineteen, and am quite de-
termined that our old plan shall be carried out, and that
you shall start an institution like that of Professor
Menzel somewhere near London. You have been twelve
months away, your pupils have already taken to other
teachers, and there cannot be the least occasion for your
assistance in an institut^jn that is now well stocked with
teachers, while here jort could do enormous good. Any-
how, whether you stay or not, I shall, as soon as all this
is settled, take a large house standing in its own grounds,
in some healthy place near London, and obtain teachers."

" Well, we need not talk of that just yet," Netta said
quietly; " it will be time enough when I have failed in
carrying out my plans."

" But what are your plans? "

" I have not quite settled myself; and when I do I mean
to work entirely in my own way, and shall say nothing
about it until I come to you and say I have succeeded, or
I have failed."

Hilda opened her eyes in surprise.

" But why should I be kept in the dark? "

" Because, dear, you might not approve of mv plans/'
Netta replied coolly.

208 THE LOST HEIR.

" You are not thinking of doing anything foolish, 1
hope ? " Hilda exclaimed.

" If it were foolish it would be excusable where the
counsels of wisdom have failed," Netta laughed; and
then more seriously, " Nothing would be foolish if it
could possibly lead to the discovery of Walter's hiding
place."

That afternoon, when Hilda drove out with Miss Pur-
cell to make some calls, Netta rang the bell, and when
Tom Roberts came in she said:

" I want to have a long talk with you, Roberts. But
mind, what I say is to be kept a perfect secret between
ourselves."

" Yes, miss," he said in surprise.

" Now, sit down," she went on; " we can talk more
comfortably so. Now, Roberts, there is no doubt that we
are not making much headway with our search."

" That we are not, Miss Netta," he agreed. " I did
think that we had gained something when we traced him
to that house on Pentonville Hill, but it does not seem
that anything has come of it, after all."

" Then it is quite time that we took some other steps,"
she said decisively.

" I am ready, miss," he replied eagerly. " You tell me
what to do, and I am game to do it."

" "Well, there are two or three things I have in my,
mind. First of all, I want to be able to watch John
Simcoe and this Pentonville man when they are talking
together."

" Yes, I understand," he said; " but how is it to be
done?"

" That is what I want to find out. Now, in the first
place, about this house. Which way did the window look
of the room where there was a light ? "

" That window was at the side of the house, miss; a
little way round the corner. We noticed the light there,
but there was another window looking out on the front.
We did not see any light there, as the shutters were
closed-"

KETTA ACTS INDEPENDENTLY. 200

"And you say that the curtains of the other window
iwere pulled very close?"

" Yes, they crossed each other most of the way down."

" Now, the question in my mind, Eoberts, is which
would be easier — to cut a slit in the curtain, or to bore a
hole in the shutter, or to take a brick out carefully from
the side wall and then to deepen the hole until we got to
the wall-paper, and then make a slight hole there ? "

Eoberts looked at her with astonishment. " Do you
really mean it, miss ? "

"Certainly I mean it; it seems to me that our only
chance of ever finding Walter is to overhear those men's
talk."

" Then, miss, I should say that the simplest way would
be to cut a window pane out."

" Yes; but, yon see, it is pretty certain that that cur-
tain will not be drawn until they come in, and they would
notice it at once. If we took out a pane in the front
window the shutter would prevent our seeing or hearing,
and the man would be sure to notice the pane was missing
as he walked up from the gate to the house."

" I should say, miss, that the best plan would be for
me to manage to get into the house some time during
the day and to hide in that room, under the table or sofa
or somewhere, and listen to them."

She shook her head.

" In the first place, Eoberts, you would certainly be
murdered if they found you there."

"I would take my chance of that, miss; and you may
be sure that I would take a brace of the General's pistols
with me, and they would not find it such easy work to
get rid of me."

" That may be so," Netta said, " but if in the struggle
Vou shot them both, our last chance of ever hearing of
Walter would be gone. You yourself might be tried for
murder, and it would be assumed, of course, that you
were a burglar; for the explanation that you had broken
into the house only to hear a conversation would scarcely
be believed, Moreover, you must rememi^" that we don't

210 THE LOST HEIR.

know how often these men meet. Simcoe has not been
there since you tracked him there six months ago, and
the only thing we have since found out is that the man I
saw him with in the park is the man who lives in that
house. It would never do for you to make an entrance
into the house night after night and week after week, to
run the risk of being detected there, or seized as you
entered, or caught by the police as a burglar. No, as far
as I can see, the only safe plan is to get oat a brick very
carefully in the side wall and to make a hole behind it
through the paper. It might be necessary to make an
entry into the house before this was done, so as to decide
which was the best spot for an opening. A great deal
would depend upon the paper in the room. If it is a
light paper, with only a small amount of pattern upon it,
any hole large enough to see through might be noticed.
If it is a dark paper, well covered, a hole might be made
without any fear of its catching the eye. You see, it
must be a rather large hole, for, supposing the wall is
only nine inches thick, a person standing outside could
not see what was passing inside unless the hole were a
good size."

" But I doubt much if you would be able to hear them,
Miss Netta."

" No, I don't think that I should; especially as people
talking of things of that sort, even if they had no great
/ear of being overheard, would speak in a low voice. But
that would not matter if I could see their faces. I should
know what they were saying."

Koberts did not think it right to offer any remark on
what appeared to him to be impossible, and he confined
himself to saying in a respectful voice, " Indeed, Miss
Netta."

" I am stone-deaf," she said, " but have learned to
read what people are saying from the movement of their
lips."

Although the " Indeed, miss," was as respectful as
before, Netta saw that he did not in the slightest degree
believe her.

NETTA ACTS INDEPENDENTLY. 211

"Just go to the other end of the room, Roberts, and
make some remark to yourself. Move your lips in the
same way as if you were talking, but do not make any
sound."

Roberts, with military obedience, marched to the other
end of the room, placed himself in a corner, and turned
round, facing her. His lips moved, and, confident that
she could not know what he was saying, he expressed his
natural sentiments.

The girl at once repeated the words: "Well, I'm
jiggered! This is a rum start: Miss Netta has gone clean
off her head."

Roberts' jaw dropped, and he flushed up to the hair.

" I am sure," he began; but he was stopped by the
girl's merry laugh.

" Do not apologize, Roberts; it was natural enough that
you should be surprised. Well, you see I can do as I say.
We will now go on with our talk."

Greatly abashed, Tom Roberts returned to the chair,
murmuring to himself as he sat down, " Well, I'm
blowed! " when he was roughly recalled to the necessity
of keeping his mouth shut by her quiet remark, " Never
mind about being blowed at present, Roberts; let us talk
over another plan. Who are the keepers of the house
in Jermyn Street ? "

"It is kept by a man and his wife, miss. He has
been a butler, I believe, and his wife was a cook. He
waits upon the gentlemen who lodge there, and she cooks.
They have a girl who sweeps and does the bedrooms and
the scrubbing and that sort of thing."

"What sort of a girl is she, Roberts?"

" She seems a nice sort of young woman, miss. Andrew
has spoken to her more than I have, because, you see,
my get-up aint likely to take much with a young
girl."

" I suppose she is not very much attached to her
place?"

" Lor', no, miss; she told Andrew that she was only
six months up from the country, and they don't nay her

213 TEE LOST HEIR.

but eight pounds a year, and pretty hard work slit uas t«
do for it."

" Well, Eoberts, I want to take her place/'

" You want — — " and Eoberts' voice failed him in his
astonishment.

"Yes, I want to take her place, Eoberts. I shoiud
think that if you or Andrew were to tell her that you
have a friend up from the country who wants just such
a place, and is ready to pay five pounds to get one, she
might be ready to take the offer; especially as you might
say that you knew of a lady who is in want of an under-
housemaid and you thought that you could get her the
place."

"As to that, miss, I have no doubt that she would
leave to-morrow, if she could get five pounds. She told
Andrew that she hated London, and should go down home
and take a country place as soon as she had saved up
money to do so."

" All the better, Eoberts; then all she would have to
do would be to say that she had heard of a place near
home, and wanted to leave at once. She did not wish
to inconvenience them, but that she had a cousin who
was just coming up to London and wanted a place, and
that she would jump at it. She could say that her cousin
had not been in service before, but that she was a
thorough good cleaner and hard worker."

"And do you mean that you would go as a servant,
Miss Xetta? Why, it would not be right for you to
do so."

"Anything would be right that led to the discovery
of Walter's hiding place, Eoberts. I have been accus-
tomed to teaching, and I have helped my aunt to look
after the house for years, and I do not in the slightest
degree mind playing the part of a servant for a short
time, in order to try and get at the bottom of this matter.
You think that it can be managed? "

"I am sure it can be managed right enough, miss; but
what Miss Covington would say, if she knew that T had *>
hand in bringing it about, I can't say."

NETTA ACTS INDEPENDENTLY. 213

"Well, you won't be drawn into the matter, i shall
gay enough to my aunt to satisfy her that I am acting
for the best, and shall simply, when I go, leave a note for
your mistress, telling her that I have gone to work out
an idea that I have had in my mind, and that it would
be no use for her to inquire into the matter until she
hears of me again."

"What am I to tell Andrew, miss?"

" Simply tell him that a young woman has been en-
gaged to watch Simcoe in his lodgings. Then tell him
the story he has to tell the girl. I shall want three or
four days to get my things ready. I shall have to go to a
dressmaker's and tell her that I want three or four print
gowns for a young servant about my own figure, and as
soon as they are ready I shall be ready, too."

" Well, miss, I will do as you tell me, but I would say,
quite respectful, I hope that you will bear in mind, if
things goes wrong, that I was dead against it, and that it
was only because you said that it was our only chance of
finding Master Walter that I agreed to lend a hand."

" I will certainly bear that in mind," Netta said with a
smile. " Talk it over with Andrew to-night; but remem-
ber he is only to know that a young woman has been
engaged to keep a watch on Simcoe."

" He will be glad enough to hear, miss, that someone
else is going to do something. He says the Colonel is so
irritable because he has found out so little that there is
no bearing with him."

"The Colonel is trying," Netta laughed. "As you
know, he comes here two or three times a week and puts
himself into such rages that, as he stamps up and down
the room, I expect to hear a crash and to find that the
dining-room ceiling has fallen down. He is a thoroughly
kind-hearted man, but is a dreadful specimen of what an
English gentleman may come to after he has had the
command of an Indian regiment for some years, and been
accustomed to have his will obeyed in everything. It is
yery bad for a man."

* It is a good deal worse for his servant, miss," Tom

214 TEE LOST HEIR.

Roberts said, in a tone of deep sympathy for Ms comrade.
"I doubt whether I could have stood it myself; but
though Andrew expresses his feelings strong sometimes,
I know that if you offered him a good place even in
Buckingham Palace, he would not leave the Colonel.

Two days later Netta heard that the girl m Jermyn
Street had joyfully accepted the offer, and had that
morning told her master that she had heard that she
was wanted badly at home, and that a cousin of hers
would be up in a day or two, ana would, she was sure, be
very glad to take her place. The master agreed to give
her a trial, if she looked a clean and tidy girl.

« I shall be clean and tidy, Roberts; and I?am sure 1
shall do no injustice to her recommendation.

Roberts shook his head. The matter was to his mind,
far too serious to be joked about, and he almost felt as
if he were acting in a treasonable sort of way m aiding
to carry out such a project.

On the following Monday Hilda, on coming down to
breakfast, found a note on the table. She opened it in
haste, seeing that it was in Netta's handwriting, and
her eyes opened in surprise and almost dismay as she
read:

" My Daeling Hilda: I told you that I had a plan.
Well, I am off to carry it out. It is of no use your
asking what it is, or where I am going. You will hear
nothing of me until I return to tell you whether I have
failed or succeeded. Aunt knows what I am going to do.

Hilda at once ran upstairs to Miss Purcell's joom.

-Where has Netta gone?" she exclaimed, Her
letter has given me quite a turn. She says that you
know; but I feel sure that it is something very foolish

an<Ca Thought that you had a better opinion of Netta's
common sense," Miss Purcell said placidly, smiling a little
at Hilda's excitement. "It is her ar rangement, dear
and not mine, and I am certainly not at liberty to give

A ETTA ACTS INDEPENDENTLY. 215

you any information about it. I do not say that 1 should
not have opposed it in the first instance, had I known of
it, but I certainly cannot say that there is anything fool-
ish in it, and I admit that it seems to me to offer a better
chance of success than any plan that has yet been tried.
I don't think there is any occasion for anxiety about her.
Netta has thought over her plans very carefully, and has
gone to work in a methodical way; she may fail, but if
so I don't think that it will be her fault."

" But why could she not tell me as well as you? " Hilda
asked rather indignantly.

" Possibly because she did not wish to raise hopes that
might not be fulfilled; but principally, I own, because
she thought you would raise objections to it, and she
was bent upon having her own way. She has seconded
you well, my dear, all through this business."

" Yes, I know, aunt; she has been most kind in every
respect."

" Well, my dear, then don't grudge her having a little
plan of her own."

" I don't grudge her a bit," Hilda said impetuously,
* and, as you are quite satisfied, I will try to be quite
satisfied too. But, you see, it took me by surprise; and
I was so afraid that she might do something rash and
get into trouble somehow. You know really I am quite
afraid of this man, and would certainly far rather run a
risk nvyself than let her do so."

" Of that I have no doubt, Hilda; but I am quite sure
that, if the case had been reversed, you would have under-
taken this little plan that she has hit upon, to endeavor
to relieve her of a terrible anxiety, just as she is doing
for you."

"Well, I will be patient, aunt. How long do you
think that she will be away?"

" That is more than I can tell you; but at any rate
she has promised to write me a line at least twice a week,
and, should I think it right, I can recall her."

" That is something, aunt. You cannot gues? whether
it is likelv to be a week or a month? "

2 If TEE LOST HEIR.

Miss Purcell shook her head.

" It will all depend upon whether she succeeds y&
hitting upon a clew as to where Walter is. If she finds
that she has no chance of so doing she will return; if,
on the other hand, she thinks that there is a probability
that with patience she will succeed, she will continue to
watch and wait."

" Miss Netta is not ill, I hope, miss ? " Roberts said,
when he came in to clear the breakfast things away.

"No she has gone away on a short visit," Hilda re-
plied. Had she been watching the old soldier's face, she
might have caught a slight contortion that would have
enlightened her >as to the fact that he knew more than
she did about the matter; but she had avoided looking
at him, lest he should read in her face that she was in
ignorance as to Netta's whereabouts. She would have
liked to have asked when she went; whether she took a
box with her, and whether she had gone early that morn-
ing or late the evening before; but she felt that any
questions of the sort would show that she was totally in
the dark as to her friend's movements. In fact Netta
had walked out early that morning, having sent off a box
by the carrier on the previous Saturday when Hilda was
out; Eoberts having himself carried it to the receiving
house.

It was four or five days before Dr. Leeds called
again.

" Is Miss Purcell out ? " he asked carelessly, when some
little time had elapsed without her making her ap-
pearance.

"Is that asked innocently, Dr. Leeds?" Hilda said
quickly.

The doctor looked at her in genuine surprise.

"Innocently, Miss Covington? I don't think that I
quite understand you."

" I see, doctor, that I have been in error. I suspected
you of being an accomplice of Netta's in a little scheme
in which she is engaged on her own account." And she
then told him about her disappearance, of the letter that

NETTA ACTS INDEPENDENTLY. 217

she had received, and of the conversation with ner aunt.
Dr. Leeds was seriously disturbed.

" I need hardly say that this comes as a perfect sur-
prise to me, Miss Covington, and I say frankly a very
unpleasant one. But the only satisfactory feature is that
the young's lady aunt does not absolutely disapprove of
the scheme, whatever it is, although it is evident that her
approval is by no means a warm one. This is a very
serious matter. I have the highest opinion of your
friend's judgment and sense, but I own that I feel ex-
tremely uneasy at the thought that she has, so to speak,
pitted herself against one of the most unscrupulous
villains I have ever met, whose past conduct shows that
he would stop at nothing, and who is playing for a very
big stake. It would be as dangerous to interfere between
a tiger and his prey as to endeavor to discover the secret
on which so much depends."

" I feel that myself, doctor, and I own that I'm ex-
ceedingly anxious. Aunt has had two short letters from
her. Both are written in pencil, but the envelope is in
ink, and in her usual handwriting. I should think it
probable that she took with her several directed en-
velopes. The letters are very short. The first was: 'I
am getting on all right, aunt, and am comfortable. Too
early to say whether I am likely to discover anything.
Pray do not fidget about me, nor let Hilda do so. There
is nothing to be uneasy about.' The second was as nearly
as possible in the same words, except that she said, c You
and Hilda must be patient. Rome was not built in a
day, and after so many clever people have failed you can-
not expect that I can succeed all at once.' "

" That is good as far as it goes," the doctor said, " but
you see it does not go very far. It is not until success
is nearly reached that the danger will really begin. I do
not mind saying to you that Miss Purcell is very dear
to me. I have not spoken to her on the subject, as I
wished to see how my present partnership was likely to
turn out. I am wholly dependent upon my profession,
and until I felt my ground thoroughly * ^ermined to

218 THE LOST HEIR.

remain silent. You can imagine, therefore, how troubled
I am at your news. Were it not that I have such implicit
confidence in her judgment I should feel it still more;
but even as it is, when I think how unscrupulous and
how desperate is the man against whom she has, single-
handed, entered the lists, I cannot but be alarmed."

" I am very glad at what you have told me, doctor. I
had a little hope that it might be so. It seemed to me
impossible that you could be living for four months with
such a dear girl without being greatly attracted by her.
Of course I know nothing of her feelings. The subject
is one that has never been alluded to between us, but I
am sure that no girl living is more fitted than she is to
be the wife of a medical man. I would give much to
have Netta back again, but Miss Purcell is obdurate. She
says that, knowing as she does what Netta is doing, she
does not think that she is running any risk — at any rate,
none proportionate to the importance of finding a clew
to Walter's hiding place."

" Will you ask her if she will write to her niece and
urge her to return, saying how anxious you are about her.
Or, if she will not do that, whether she will release her
from her promise of secrecy, so that she may let us know
what she is doing? "

" I will go and ask her now; I will bring her down so
that you can add your entreaties to mine, doctor."

But Miss Purcell refused to interfere.

" I consider Netta's scheme to be a possible one," she
said, " though I am certainly doubtful of its success.
But she has set her heart upon it, and I will do nothing
to balk her. I do not say that I am free from anxiety
myself, but my confidence in Netta's cleverness, and I
may say prudence, is such that I believe that the risk
she is running is very slight. It would be cruel, and I
think wrong at the present moment, when above all
things it is necessary that her brain should be clear,
to distress and trouble her by interfering with her
actions."

"Perhaps you are right, Miss Purcell," the doctor

NETTA ACTS INDEPENDENTLY 219

said thoughtfully. "Being totally in the dark in the
matter, I am not justified in giving a decisive opinion,
but I will admit that it would not conduce either to her
comfort or to the success of her undertaking were we
to harass her by interfering in any way with her plan,
which, I have no doubt, has been thoroughly thought
out before she undertook it. No one but a madman
would shout instructions or warnings to a person per-
forming a dangerous feat requiring coolness and presence
of mind. Such, I take it, is the scheme, whatever it is,
in which she is engaged; and as you are the only one
who knows what that scheme is, I must, however re-
luctantly, abide by your decision. When Miss Coving-
ton tells you the conversation that we have had together
you will recognize how deeply I am interested in the
matter."

CHAPTER XVIII.

DOWX IX THE MABSHES.

Comparatively few of those who nowadays run dowi,
to Southend for a breath of fresh air give a thought to
the fact that the wide stretch of low country lying be-
tween the railroad and the Thames, from Pitsea to Leigh,
was at one time, and that not so many centuries back, a
mud flat, a continuation of the great line of sand that
still, with but a short break here and there, stretches
down beyond Yarmouth; still less that, were it not for
the watchfulness of those who dwell upon it, it would in
a short time revert to its original condition, the country
lying below the level of higher water.

Along the whole face of the river run banks — the
work, doubtless, of engineers brought over by Dutch
"William — strong, massive, and stone-faced, as they need
be to withstand the rush and fret of the tide and the
action of the waves when, as is often the case, the east
wind knocks up ridges of short, angry water in Sea Reach.
Similar!}^, the winding creeks are all embanked, but here
dams of earth are sufficient to retain within its bounds
the sluggish water as it rises and falls. Standing on any
of these, the farmhouses and little homesteads lie below,
their eaves for the most part level with the top of the
bank, though there are a few knolls which rise above the
level of the tidal water.

The most conspicuous objects are the brown sails of
the barges, which seem to stand up in the midst of the
brownish-green fields, the hulls being invisible. This
cannot be called marsh land, for the ground is intersected
by ditches, having sluices through which they discharge
their water at lo™ tide. Very fertile is the land *n cn*r\e.

DOWN IN TEE MARSHES J21

spots, notably in Canvey Island, where there are great
stretches of wheat and broad meadows deep with rich
waving grass; but there are other places where the grass
is brown and coarse, showing that, though the surface
may be hard and dry, water lies not far below. Here a
few cattle gather a scanty living, and the little home-
steads are few and far between. Most of the houses are
placed near the banks of the creeks. The barges serve as
their wagons, and carry their hay up to London and
bring down manure and other things required, or carry
coal and lime to the wharves of Pitsea.

A rare place was this in the old smuggling days, and
indeed until quite lately the trade was carried on, though
upon a reduced scale. Vessels drifting slowly up the
river would show a light as they passed a barge at anchor
or a bawley hanging to its trawl, a light would be shown
in answer, and a moment later a boat would row off to
the ship, and a score of tubs or a dozen bales of tobacco
be quiekly transferred, and before morning the contents
would be stowed in underground cellars in some of the
little farmhouses on the creeks, or be hidden away in the
Leigh marshes.

"Will Bill be in to-night with the barge?" a child
asked a woman, as he came down from the bank to a
not uncomfortable-looking homestead ten yards from its
foot.

" I told you that you are to call him uncle," the woman:
said sharply, but not unkindly. " I have told you so over
and over again, child." I

" I generally do now, but one forgets sometimes."

" There is never any saying " — the woman went on in
reply to his question — "there is never any saying; it all
depends on tide and wind. Sometimes they have to
anchor and lose a tide, or maybe two. Sometimes they
get a cargo directly they get into the Pool or at Roches-
ter; sometimes they wait two or three days. They have
been away four days now; they might have been here
yesterday, but may not come till to-morrow. One thing
is certain, whenever he do come he will want something

222 THE LOST HEIR.

to eat, and I hope that they will bring it with them, for
there is nothing here but bread and bacon."

" And do you think that I shall soon go home again,
aunt?"

" There is no saying," the woman said evasively. " You
are very comfortable here, aint you? "

" Oh, yes! There are the dogs and the ducks and the
chickens, and uncle says that he will take me sometimes
for a sail with him in the barge."

"Yes, I expect it won't be long first. You know, I
used to go with him regular till, as I have told you, my
little Billy fell overboard one night, and we knew noth-
ing of it until he was gone, and I have never liked the
barge since. Besides, I have plenty to do here. But I
am going across to Bochester very soon. It's a good
place for shopping, and I want groceries and little things
for myself and more things for you. I will take you
with me, but you will have to promise to be very good
and careful."

" I will be careful," the child said confidently, " and
you know that uncle said that when spring comes he will
teach me to swim; and I shall like that, and if I tumble
overboard it won't matter. He says that when I get a
few years older I shall go with him regularly, and learn
to steer and to manage the sails. I shall like that; but I
should like to go back sometimes to see Hilda and Netta
and my grandpapa."

" Well, well, my dear, we will see about it; they can't
take you at present. I think that they have gone away
traveling, and may not be back for a long time. And
mind, you know you are not to talk about them. Just
when you are here with me I don't care; but you know
uncle does not like it, and if anyone asks, you must say
just what he told you, that your father and mother are
dead, and that Uncle Bill has took you."

" I shan't forget," the boy said. " I never do talk about
it before him; it makes him angry. I don't know why.
but it does."

"But he is always kind to you, Jack? "

DOWN IN THE MARSHES. 223

*0h, yes, he is very kind, and he often brings me
things when he comes back; he brought me my dear lit-
tle kitten. Pussy, where have you hidden yourself?
Puss! puss! " And in answer a little ball of white fur
bounded out from behind a chair, and the child was soon
engaged in a game of romps with it.

" It is a shame! " the woman said, as she watched them;
"I don't mind the other things, but I never liked this.
I wonder who the poor little chap is. By the way he
talked when he first came, about his home and his nurse
and horses and carriages, his friends must be rich people.
Bill has never understood why they wanted to get rid of
him; but I suppose that he was in somebody's way, and,
as he never speaks of his father and mother, but only of
those two girls and his grandfather, who seems to have
been an invalid, I expect that he must have lost his father
and mother before he can remember. Well, he will be
right enough here; I should miss him dreadful if he were
to go away; he seems to have taken the place of my little
Billy. And Bill takes to him, too, wonderfully. He said
the other day that when the boy grew up he would buy a
barge, a new one of the best kind, and that some day
it should be the boy's own. So he won't do so bad, after
all."

A stranger would have wondered at the comfort in the
interior of the little farmhouse. The land round it was
.very poor. Three horses — which seemed as if they had
nothing to do but to nibble the coarse grass — and a
couple of cows wandered about on a few acres of land, in-
closed by deep water ditches; a score or two of ducks and
geese paddled in the mud in the bottom of the creek at
low tide, or swam about in the water when it was up;
and a patch of garden ground, attended to chiefly by the
woman, surrounded the cottage. But all this would have
afforded a scanty living indeed, were it not that the
master, Bill Nibson, was the owner of the Mary Ann
barge, an old craft with a somewhat dilapidated sail,
which journeyed up and down the river with more or less
regularity, laden, for the most part, with manure, hay,

224 THE LOST HEIR.

lime, bricks, or coal. This he navigated with the aid of a
lad of fourteen, a waif, whose mother, a tramp, had died
by the roadside one bitter cold night four years before.
Bill had been summoned on the coroner's jury and had
offered to take the boy.

" I can do with him on board the barge," he said; " he
is only a little nipper now, but in a year or two he will
be useful. The boy I have got wants to go to sea, and I
shan't be sorry to get rid of him; he is getting too know-
ing for me altogether."

As no one else wanted the boy he was handed over
to Bill, and was now a sharp lad, who, never having been
instructed in the niceties of right and wrong, and being
especially ignorant that there was any harm in cheating
Her Majesty's Customs, was in all things a useful
assistant to his master. He had, indeed, very soon
imbibed the spirit, not uncommon among the dwellers
on the marshes, that if managed without detection, the
smuggling of tobacco and spirits was a meritorious
action, advantageous to the community at large, and
hurting no one except that mysterious and unknown
entitv, the queen's revenue. He was greatly attached
to Bill, and took an occasional thrashing as a matter of
course; regarding him as having saved him from the work-
house and having put him in a fair way of making a man
of himself.

The next day at twelve o'clock the child, playing
on the bank, ran in and reported that Joshua was
coming along the bank, and in a few minutes the boy
appeared.

"Morning, missis," he said. "Master sent me on to
say that the barge got into the haven this morning, and
that she will come on with the evening tide. He sent
me on with this lump of meat, and these rokers he got
from a bawley which came in just as we were getting up
sail off Grain Spit. He says he has got a barrel of beer
on board, that he will land as he passes. He will be along
about nine o'clock. Well, Jack, how are you? "

" I am all right," the child said, * and so is Kitty- T

DOWN AY THE MABSEES.

am dad that you are back. How long are you going to
stay?"

" I suppose that it will take us a couple of days to un-
load. Master is going as usual to hire a couple of men to
get the line out, so I shall be over here by breakfast. He
says that I may as well do a job of digging in the garden,
as he wants to get some things in before we get frosty
nights. Have you any message for him, missis?"

" You can tell him he may as well get a dish of eels
from one of the Dutchmen there. I suppose there is one
in the haven? "

" Two of them, missis; he will be able to get them, for
one of them is the Harden, and the skipper has always
let* master have some, though he won't sell an eel to any-
one else."

" Is there any business to be done? " the woman asked
significantly.

The boy nodded.

" All right; tell him that I will get the horses in."

The child was put to bed upstairs at seven o'clock,
although he in vain petitioned to be allowed to stop up
until the barge came along. He already knew, however,
by experience, that his request was not likely to be
granted, as when the barge came along after dark he was
always put to bed, the woman telling him that Bill didn't
like him to be up when he came in, as he wanted to have
a talk with her in quiet, and to eat his supper in peace.

An hour after dark the woman went out onto the bank
and listened. In a quarter of an hour she heard the rattle
of a block in the distance. She went down, stirred up
the fire, and put on the kettle, and in twenty minutes the
barge came along. The boat, instead of towing behind
as usual, was alongside.

" You take her on, Joshua," its owner said, as he
quietly got into the boat; " run in where the water is
deep alongside, a quarter of a mile this side Pitsea. I
will come along and get on board there as soon as I have
finished this job. Keep a sharp lookout on the banks;
some c* the coastguardsmen may be about. J* they hail

226 THE LOST HEIR.

you and ask if I am on board, say I landed as we passed
here, to have a cup of tea, and that I shall not be five
minutes."

Then he pushed the boat to shore. " Well, Betsy, how
are you? I have got twenty kegs here, and five or six
hundredweight of tobacco. I will get it up the bank,
and you had better stow it away at once; I will lend you a
hand as soon as it is all up,"

As fast as he could carry the kegs up the banks she
slipped slings round them, two at a time, hooked them
to a milkmaid's yoke, and went off with them to a shed
which served as a stable and cowhouse in the winter.
Against this was a rick of hay. Putting the kegs down
she returned for more, and by the time that they were
all in the stable her husband had finished his share of
the work and had carried the heavy bales of tobacco to
the shed. The three horses were already there.

" Are you going to take them out at once ? "

" No, not until I come back. I must get on board the
barge as soon as possible. We will bundle them all in, in
case any of those fellows should come along."

Three planks were removed from the side of the shed
next to the stack, and an opening was seen. Some turf
was taken up and a trapdoor exposed. The kegs and
tobacco were speedily carried down into a large cellar,
the trapdoor was closed, and the boards placed securely
in position and fastened by six long screws. Then they
returned to the house. The teapot and cups were on the
table, the kettle was boiling, and in two or three minutes
they were taking tea. Scarcely had they begun their
meal when there was a knock at the door. Bill got up
and opened it, and two coastguards entered.

" We saw there was a light burning, and thought that
you might be here, Bill. The wind is bitter cold."

" Come in and have a cup of tea or a glass of rum,
whichever you like best. As you say, the wind is bitter
cold, and I thought that I would land and have a cup
of tea. I shall catch the barge up before she sets to
Pitsea."

DOWN IN THE MARSHES. 227

The coastguardsmen accepted the offer of a cup of tea,
glancing furtively round the room as they drank it.

" It is good tea."

" 'Tis that," Bill said, " and it has never paid duty. I
got it from an Indiaman that was on the Nore three weeks
ago. She transshipped part of her cargo on my barge and
floated next tide. It was one of the best jobs I've had for
some time, and stood me in fifty pounds and a pound or
two of tea."

"Perhaps a chest of it!" one of the men said with a
laugh.

" Well, well, I am not sure that it was not a chest.
I like my cup of tea, and so does Betsy; and there is no
getting tea like this at Stanford."

They chatted for about ten minutes, when Bill re-
marked, " I must be going," and they went out together,
and taking his place in his boat he rowed up the creek,
while the coastguards continued their walk along the
bank.

" He is not a bad 'un, Tom," one of them said. " I
guess he is like a good many of the others, runs a keg
occasionally. However, his place has been searched half
a dozen times, and nothing has been found. We have
drunk many a glass of ale with him at the ' Lobster
Smack ' at Hole Haven, and I am sure I don't want to
catch him unless there is some information to go on.
The barge passed us half an hour ago, and I knew that
it was no use looking in her, but of course when the
boatswain said this afternoon, * Just follow that barge
when she gets under way, and see if she goes on to Pitsea/
we had to do it; but the boat was late for us where the
creek branches off round the island, and before we were
across he must have got more than half an hour's start
of us. And I am not sorry, Tom. We have got to do
our duty, but we don't want to be at war with every good
fellow on the marshes."

" Right you are, Dick; besides, they are as slippery as
eels. Who can tell what they have got under their iime
or manure? Short of unloading it to the bottom there

228 THE LOST HEIR.

would be no finding it, if they had anything; and is Is a
job that I should not care for. Besides, there aint no
place to empty it on; and we could not go and chuck a
cargo overboard unless we were quite certain that we
should find something underneath. As you say, I dare
say Bill runs a keg or two now and then, but I don't sup-
pose that he is worse than his neighbors; I have always
suspected that it was he who left a keg of whisky at our
door last Christmas."

In the meantime Bill had overtaken his barge, and they
soon had her alongside of the little wharf at Pitsea.

" Tide is just turning. She will be aground in half an
hour," he said. " As soon as you have got these moor-
ing ropes fastened, you had better fry that steak and
have your supper. I shall be over by seven o'clock in
the morning. If Harvey and Wilson come alongside be-
fore that, tell them they can have the job at the usual
price, and can set to work without waiting for me. It
will be pretty late before I am in bed to-night."

It was over a mile walk back to his cottage. As soon
as he arrived he sat down to a hearty supper which his
wife had prepared for him. He then got three pack-
saddles out of the cellar, put them on the horses, and
fastened four kegs on each horse. Tying one behind the
other, he started, and in an hour the kegs were stowed in
the cellars of four farmers near Stanford. It was mid-
night before he returned home. At halfpast six he was
down to breakfast.

"Well, uncle, how are you?" he asked the child, who
was already up.

" I am not your uncle," the boy replied; " you are my
uncle."

" Ah, well, it's a way of speaking down here. It does
not mean that anyone is one's uncle; it is just a way of
speaking."

The child nodded. He was learning many things.

<cThen it is a way of speaking when I call you
xmcle?"

" No, no! That is different. A child like you would

DOWN IN THE MARSHES. 229

not call anyone uncle unless he was uncle; while a man.
my age calls anyone uncle."

"That is funny, isn't it?"

" Well, I suppose, when you think of it, it is; but, as
I said, it is a way we have in this part of the country.
Well, mother, have you got that fish nearly fried? "

" It will be ready in five minutes. This roker is a very
thick one.' I put it on as soon as I heard you stirring,
and it is not quite ready yet. That was a pretty near
escape last night, Bill."

" Yes; but, you see, they can hardly catch us unless
they send men down in the afternoon. They cannot get
along from the station without passing two or three
creeks; and coming along with the tide, especially when
there is a breath of wind to help her, we can do it in half
the time. You see, I always get the things out from
under the cargo and into the boat as we come along, so
that the barge shall not be stopped."

" But they might send down a boat from the Thames
Haven station, Bill."

" Yes; but then they don't know when the barge is in,
or when it is going to start. So we get the best of them
in that way. Besides, they have a good bit to go along
the river face, and they have to cross a dozen deep cuts
to get there. No, I have no fear of them, nor of the
others either, as far as that goes. I have more than once
had a word dropped, meant to put me on my guard, and
instead of landing the things here have dropped them in a
deep hole in the creek, where I could pick them up the
next night I came in. Things have changed with us for
the better, lass. Five years ago we had pretty hard work,
with the farm and the old boat, to live at all comfortable;
but since I have got into the swim things have changed
with us, and I can tell you that I am making money hand
over fist. I allow that there is a certain risk in it, but,
after all, one likes it all the better for that. If the worst
came to the worst they could but confiscate the old barge;
if they gave me a heavy fine I could pay it, and if they
gave me six months I could work it out, and bu^r a new

231 THE LOST HEIR

barge and half a dozen farms like this on the day I came
out."

" But the other would be more serious, Bill? "

" Well, yes; but I don't see any chance of that being
found out. A gent comes to me at a spot we have settled
on, say on the road halfway between Pitsea and Stanford;
he hands me a box, sometimes two; I puts them on one
of the horses, and rides over here with them; then I stows
them away in that secret place off the store, where there
aint a shadow of a chance of the sharpest-eyed coast-
guardsman ever finding them. They would be too de-
lighted to light on the spirits and bacca to think of
digging up the floor underneath. There they lie, till I
take them down to the Harden. They put them into the
eel tank, and next morning off she sails."

" But you have had heavy cases brought once or
twice?"

" Only once — heavy enough to be troublesome. Ten
cases there was then, each as heavy as a man could lift.
It took me three journeys with three horses, and I had
to dig a big hole in the garden tc bury them till the
Mar den had got rid of her eels, and was ready to sail
again. Yes, that was a heavy job, and I got a couple of
hundred pounds for my share of the business. I should
not mind having such a job twice a week. A few months
of that, and I could buy the biggest farm on this side of
Essex — that is to say, if I could make up my mind to cut
it and settle down as a farmer."

"You will never do that, Bill; but you might settle
down in Rochester, and buy half a dozen barges, with
a tip-top one you would sail yourself. You might have
a couple of men and a cabin forward, and a nice roomy
place for yourself and me aft: and you could just steer
when you -liked, or sit down and smoke your pipe and
watch her going through the fleet as we worked through
the swatchway. That would be more your sort, Bill, and
mine too. I know you have money enough laid by to get
such a barge."

" That is so. Betsy. I allow that I could do that. I

DOWN IN THE MARSHES. 231

have been thinking of it for some time, but somehow or
other one never works one's self up to the right point to
give it all up of a sudden and cut the old place. Well,
I suppose one of these days I shall do it, if it is only to
please you."

" It would please me, you know, Bill. I don't see no
harm in running the kegs or the bacca — it's what the
people about here have been doing for hundreds of years
—but I don't like this other business. You don't know
what is in the cases, and you don't ask, but there aint
much difficulty in guessing. And I don't much like this
business of the child. I did not like it at all at first; but
when I found that he had no father nor mother as he
knew of, and so it was certain that no one was breaking
their heart about him, I did not mind it; and I have
taken to him, and he has pretty nearly forgotten about
his home, and is as contented as if he had been here all
his life. I have nothing more to say about him, though
it is as certain as eggs is eggs that it has been a bad busi-
ness. The boy has been cheated out of his money, and
if his friends ever find him it is a nice row that we shall
get into."

" You need not bother yourself about that," the man
said; " he aint more likely to be found here than if he
was across the seas in Ameriky. We have had him near
nine months now, and in another three months, if you
were to put him down in front of his own house, he would
not know it. Everyone about here believes as he is my
nevvy, the son of a brother of yours who died down in
the Midlands, and left him motherless. No one asks any
questions about him now, no more than they does about
Joshua. No, no; we are all right there, missis; and the
hundred pounds that we had down with him, and fifty
pounds a year till he gets big enough to ear-n his own
grub on the barge, all helps. Anyhow, if something
should happen to me before I have made up my mind to
quit this, you know where the pot of money is hidden.
You can settle in Eochester, and get him some schooling,
and then apprentice him to a barge-owner and start

28i> THE LOST HEIR.

him with a fearge of his own as soon as he is out of his
time. You bear it in mind that is what I should like
done."

" I will mind," she said quietly; " but I am as likely
to be carried to the churchyard as you are, and you re-
member what I should like, and try, Bill, if you give up
the water yourself, to see that he is with a man as doesn't
drink. Most of the things we hears of — of barges being
run down, and of men falling overboard on a dark night
— are just drink, and nothing else. You are not a man
as drinks yourself; you take your glass when the barge
is in the creek, but I have never seen you the worse for
liquor since yen courted me fifteen years ago, and I tell
yon there is not a night when you are out on the barge
as I don't thank God that it is so. I says to myself, when
the wind is blowing on a dark night, ' He is anchored
somewheres under a weather shore, and he is snug asleep
in his cabin. There is no fear of his driving along
through it and carrying on sail; there is no fear of his
stumbling as he goes forward and pitching over '; and no
one but myself knows what a comfort it is to me. You
bring him up in the same way, Bill. You teach him as
it is always a good thing to keep from liquor, though
a pint with an old mate aint neither here nor there, but
that he might almost as well take poison as to drink down
in the cabin."

"I will mind, missis; I like the child, and have got it
in my mind to bring him up straight, so let us have no
more words about it."

CHAPTER XIX.

A PARTIAL SUCCESS.

Netta had been away three weeks when one morning1,
just as they were sitting down to breakfast, she suddenly
came into the room. With a cry of joy Hilda ran into her
arms.

"You wicked, wicked girl!" she exclaimed. "I know
that I ought not to speak to you. You don't deserve that
I should even look at you, but I cannot help it."

Miss Purcell embraced her niece more soberly, but
Hilda saw by the expression of her face that her niece's
return relieved her of a burden of anxiety which at times
she had had difficulty in concealing.

" In the first place, Netta, before I even give }*ou a
cup of tea, tell me if this is a final return, or whether
you are going to disappear again."

"That we will decide after you have heard my story,"
Netta said quietly.

"And have you got any news of Walter?"

" I am not sure; I think so. So you have kept ;. ;
secret, aunt ? "

"I promised that I would, dear, and of course I hava
kept my word, though it was very difficult to resist
Hilda's pleading. Dr. Leeds, too, has been terri*jlv
anxious about you, and not a day has passed that ho
has not run in for a few minutes to learn if there was
any news."

" I don't see why he should have known that I hava
been away."

"Why, my dear," Hilda said, "coming here as often
as he does, he naturally in quired where you were, and
as I was uncertain how long you would be away, and a?
be had always been in our counsels, I could hardly keep

233

234 THE LOST HEIR.

him in the dark, even had I wished to da so. .Now, my
dear, let us know all about it; there can be no possible
reason for keeping silent any longer."

"Well, Hilda, the whole affair has been very simple,
and there was not the least occasion for being anxious.
I simply wanted to keep it quiet because I felt that you
would raise all sorts of objections to the plan. We had,
as you know, thought over a great many methods by
which we might overhear a conversation between John
Simcoe and the man on Pentonville Hill. But it seemed
next to be impossible that it could be managed there.
Suddenly the idea came into my brain that, as a servant
at Simcoe's lodgings in Jermyn Street, I might have an
excellent chance."

Hilda gave an exclamation of horror.
" My dear Netta, you never can really have thought of
carrying this out ? "

"I not only thought of it, but did it. With a little
management the girl there was got hold of, and as it
fortunately happened that she did not like London and
wanted to take a country situation, there was very little
difficulty, and she agreed to introduce me as a friend
who was willing to take her place. Of course, it took a
few days to make all the arrangements and to get suitable
clothes for the place, and these I sent by parcel delivery,
and on the morning of the day that the girl was to leave
presented myself at the house. The man and his wife
were good enough to approve of my appearance. They
had, it seemed, three sets of lodgers, one on each floor;
the man himself waited upon them, and my work was to
do their rooms and keep the house tidy generally."
Again Hilda gave a gasp.

"There was nothing much in that," Netta went on,
•without heeding her. " I used to do most of the house
work when we were in Germany, and I think that I gave
every satisfaction. Of course the chief difficulty was
about my deafness. I was obliged to explain to them
that I was very hard of hearing unless I was directly
spoken to. Mr. Johnstone always answered the bells

A PARTIAL SUCCESS 235

himself when he was at home. Of course, when he was
out it was my duty to do so. When I was downstairs
it was simple enough, for I only had to go to the door
of the room of which I saw the bell in motion. At first
they seemed to think that the difficulty was insuperable;
but I believe that in other respects I suited them so well
that they decided to make the best of it, and when her
husband was out and I was upstairs Mrs. Johnstone took
to answering the door bells, or if a lodger rang, which
was not very often, for her husband seldom went out
unless they were a?! three away, she would come upstairs
and tell me. Johnstone himself said to me one day that
I was the best girl he had ever had, and that instead of
having to go most carefully over the sitting rooms before
the gentlemen came in for breakfast, he found that
everything was so perfectly dusted and tidied up that
there was really nothing for him to do.

" But oh, Hilda, I never had the slightest idea before
how untidy men are! The way they spill their tobacco
ash all over the room, and put the ends of their cigars
upon mantelpieces, tables, and everywhere else, you
would hardly believe it. The ground floor and the second
floor were the worst, for they very often had men in of
an evening, and the state of the rooms in the morning
was something awful. Our man was on the first floor,
and did not give anything like so much trouble, for he
almost always went out in the evening and never had
more than one or two friends in with him. One of these
friends was the man we saw with him in the Eow, and
who, we had no doubt, was an accomplice of his. He
came oftener than anyone else, very often coming in to
fetch him. As he was always in evening dress I suppose
they went to some club or to the theater together. I am
bound to say that his appearance is distinctly that of a
gentleman.

" I had taken with me two or three things that I fore-
saw I should want. Among them was an auger, and some
corks of a size that would exactly fit the hole that it
would make. Simcoe's bedroom communicated with the

S36 THE LOST HEIR.

sitting room, and he always used this door in going from
one room to the other; and it was evident that it was
only through that that I could get a view of what was
going on. I did not see how I could possibly make a hole
through the door itself. It was on one side, next to that
where the fireplace was, and there was a window directly
opposite, and of course a hole would have been noticed
immediately. The only place that I could see to make
it was through the door frame. Its position was a matter
of much calculation, I can assure you. The auger was
half an inch bore. I dared not get it larger, and it would
have been hopeless to try and see anything with a smaller
one, especially as the hole would have to be four or five
inches long, As I sometimes went into the room when
they were together, either with hot water or grilled bones,
or something of that sort, I was able to notice exactly
where the chairs were generally placed. Simcoe sat with
his back to the bedroom door, and the other man on the
other side of the hearthrug, facing him. I, therefore,
decided to make the hole on the side nearest to the wall,
so tli at I could see the other man past Simcoe. Of
course I wanted the hole to be as low as possible, as it
would not be so likely to be noticed as it would were it
higher up. I chose a point, therefore, that would come
level with my eye when I was kneeling down.

" At about four o'clock in the afternoon they always
went out, and from then till six Johnstone also took his
airing, and I went upstairs to turn down the beds and
tidy up generally. It was very seldom that any of them
dined at home; I, therefore, had that two hours to myself.
I got the line the hole should go by leaving the door
open, fastening a stick to the back of a chair till it was,
as nearly as I could judge, the height of the man's face,
tying a piece of string to it and bringing it tight to the
point where I settled the hole shoidd start, and then
marking the line the string made across the frame. Then
there was a good deal more calculation as to the side-
slant; but ten days ago I boldly set to work and bored
' the hole. Everv^-mg was perfectly right.: J nor»ia see

A PARTIAL SUCCESS. 237

the head of the stick, and the circle was large enough
for me to get all the man's face in view. Of course I
had put a duster on the ground to prevent any chips
falling onto the carpet.

" I was a little nervous when I set to work to drill that
hole; it was the only time that I felt nervous at all. I
had beforehand drilled several holes in the shelves of
cupboards, so as to accustom myself to use the auger,
and it did not take me many minutes before it came
through on the other side. The corks were of two sizes;
one fitted tightly into the hole, the other could be drawn
in or out with very little difficulty. I had gone out one
day and bought some tubes of paint of the colors that I
thought would match the graining of the door frame. I
also bought a corkscrew that was about an inch and a
half shorter than the depth of the hole. It was meant
to be used by a cross-piece that went through a hole at
the top. I had got this cross-piece out with some trouble,
and tied a short loop of string through the hole it had
gone through. I put the corkscrew into one of the
smaller corks and pushed it through until it was level
with the frame on the sitting-room side, and found that
by aid of the loop of string I could draw it out easily.
Then I put one of the larger corks in at the bedroom side
of the hole and pushed it in until it was level with that
side. Then I painted the ends of the corks to resemble
the graining, and when it was done they could hardly be
noticed a couple of feet away.

" I had now nothing to do but to wait until the right
moment caine. It came last night. The man arrived
about seven o'clock. Johnstone was out, and I showed
him upstairs. Simcoe was already dressed, and was in
the sitting room. I lost no time, but went into the bed-
room, where the gas was burning, turned down the bed on
the side nearest to the door, and then went round, and
with another corkscrew I had ready in my pocket took
out the inner cork, got hold of the loop, and pulled the
other one out also. Even had I had my hearing, I could
have heard nothing of what was said inside, for the doors

238 THE LOST HEIR.

were of mahogany, and very well fitted, and Johnstone
had said one day that even if a man shouted in one room
he would hardly be heard in the next, or on the landing.
I pushed a wedge under the door so as to prevent its
being opened suddenly. That was the thing that I was
most afraid of. I thought that Simcoe could hardly
move without coming within my line of sight, and that
I should have time to jump up and be busy at the bed
before he could open the door. But I was not sure of
this, so I used the wedge. If he tried the door and could
not open it, he would only suppose that the door had
stuck and I could snatch out the wedge and kick it under
the bed by the time he made a second effort.

" Kneeling down, I saw to my delight that my calcula-
tions had been perfectly right. I could see the man's
face well, for the light of the candles fell full upon it.
They talked for a time about the club and the men they
were going to dine with, and I began to be afraid that
there was going to be nothing more, when the man said,
By the way, Simcoe, I went down to Tilbury yesterday.'
\\ hat Simcoe said, of course, I could not hear; but the-
other answered, < Oh, yes, he is all right, getting quite
at home, the man said; and has almost ceased to talk
about his friends.' Then I saw him rise, and at once
jumped up and went on turning down the bed, lest Simcoe
should have forgotten something and come in for it.
However, he did not, and two or ihree minutes later I
peeped m again. The room was all dark, and I knew
that they had gone. Then I put my corks in again, saw
that the paint was all right, and went downstairs. I told
Mrs. Johnstone that, if I could be spared, I should like to
go out for two or three hours this morning to see a friend
in service. It was the time that I could best be spared.
I should have finished the sitting rooms by eight o'clock,
/and as none of the men have breakfast until about eleven,
there was plenty of time for me to make the beds after I
got back."

Hilda was crying now. Her relief that hearing that
Walter was alive and well was unbounded. She had

A PARTIAL SUCCESS. 239

absolutely refused to recognize the body found in the
canal, but she could not but admit that the probabilities
were all against her. It was certain that the clothes
were his, the child's age was about the same, the body
must have been in the water the right length of time,
the only shadow of evidence to support her was the hair.
She had taken the trouble to go to two or three work-
houses, and found that the coroner's assertion that soft
hair when cut quite close will, in a very short time, stand
upright, was a correct one. She kept on hoping against
hope, but her faith had been yielding, especially since
Netta's absence had deprived her of the support that she
obtained from her when inclined to look at matters from
a dark point of view.

" Oh, Netta," she cried, " how can I thank you enough!
How happy the news has made me! And to think that I
have been blaming you, while you have been doing all
this. You cannot tell what a relief it is to me. I have
thought so much of that poor little body, and the dread
that it was Walter's after all has been growing upon me.
I have scarcely slept for a long time."

" I know, dear. It was because I saw that though
you still kept up an appearance of hope, you were really
in despair, and could tell from your heavy eyes when
you came down of a morning that you had hardly slept,
that I made up my mind something must be done. There
was no hardship whatever in my acting as a servant for a
month or two. I can assure you that I regarded it rather
as fun, and was quite proud of the credit that my master
gave me. Now, the question is, shall I go back again? "

" Certainly not, Netta. You might be months there
without having such a piece of luck again. At any mo-
ment you might be caught listening, or they might notice
the hole that you made so cleverly. Eesides, we have
gained a clew now to Walter's hiding place. But even
that is as nothing to me in comparison with having
learned that he is alive and well, and that he has ceased
to fret and is becoming contented in his new home. We
can afford to wait now. Sooner or later we are sure to

246 THE LOST HEIR.

find him. Before, I pictured him, if still alive, as shut
up in some horrible cellar. Now I can be patient. I
think that we are sure to find him before long."

" Well, I think, clear," Miss Purcell said quietly, " that
we had better ring the bell and have some fresh tea made.
Everything is perfectly cold, for it is three-quarters of an
hour since it came up."

Hilda rang the bell and gave the necessary orders.

" Let Janet bring the things up, Eoberts, and come
back yourself when you have given the order. I want
to send a line to Dr. Leeds. You will be delighted to
hear that Miss Purcell has learned, at least, that Walter
is alive and well; but mind," she went on, as the old
soldier was about to burst out into exclamations of de-
light, " you must keep this altogether to yourself. It is
quite possible that we have been watched as closely as we
have been watching this man, and that he may in some
way learn everything that passes here; therefore it must
not be whispered outside this room that we have obtained
any news."

" I understand, miss. I won't say a word about it
downstairs."

Hilda scribbled a line in pencil to the doctor, saying
that Netta was back and that she had obtained some news
of a favorable description, and that, as she knew that at
this hour he could not get away, she would come over
with Netta at once to tall him what they had learned,
and would be in Harley Street within half an hour of
his getting the message.

As soon as they had finished breakfast they drove to
the doctor's. They were shown up into the drawing
room, where Dr. Leeds joined them almost immediately.

" We are not going to detain you more than two or
three minutes," Hilda said, while he shook hands warmly
with Netta. "You must come over this evening, and
then you shall hear the whole story; but I thought that
it was only fair that Netta should have the satisfaction
of telling you herself what she had learned."

"It is very little, but so far as it goes it is quite

Ji PARTIAL SUCCESS. 241

satisfactory, Dr. Leeds. I heard, or rather 1 saw, the
man we suspected of being Simcoe's accomplice say, ' By
the way, I ran down to Tilbury yesterday.' Siincoe then
said something, but what I could not tell, as his face was
hidden from me, and the man in reply said, ' Oh, yes, he
ifi all right, and has almost ceased to talk about his
friends.' Now you must be content with that until this
evening."

•• 1 will be content with it," the doctor said, " if you
will assure me that you are not going away again. If
you will not, I will stop here and hear the whole story,
even at the risk of a riot down in my waiting room."

" No, she is not going away, doctor; she had not quite
settled about it when she got back this morning, but I
settled it for her. I will take care that she does not slip
out of my sight till after you have seen her and talked it
all over."

" Then the matter is finally settled," Netta said,
" for unless I go in half an hour's time I cannot go
at all."

" Then I will be patient until this evening."

" Will you come to dinner, doctor? " Hilda said. " I
have sent notes off to Mr. Pettigrew and Colonel Bul-
strode to ask them to come, as I have news of importance
to give them."

" What will they do, Netta, when they find that you
do not come back? " Hilda asked as they drove away.

" That has puzzled me a good deal. I quite saw that if
I disappeared suddenly they might take it into their
heads that something had happened to me, and might
go to the police office and say I was missing. But that
would not be the worst. Simcoe might guess, when he
heard that I had gone without notice and left my things
behind me, that I had been put there to watch him. He
certainly would not suspect that he could have been
overheard, for he must know that it would be quite im-
possible for any words to be heard through the doors;
still, he would be uneasy, and might even have the child
aaoved to some other locality. So I have written a note,

242 THE LOST HEIR.

which we can talk over when we get in. Of course they
may think that I have behaved very badly in throwing
them over like this, but it is better that they should
do that than they should think there was anything sus-
picious about it. My wages are due to-morrow; like the
girl I succeeded, I was to have eight pounds a year. I
have left my box open, so that the mistress can see for
herself that there is none of the lodgers' property in it,
There are two or three print dresses — I put on my Sun-
day gown when I came out — and the underclothes are all
duly marked Jane Clotworthy."

" What a name to take, Netta! "

" Yes, I do not know how I came to choose it. I was

thinking what name I would take when Clotworthy

•flashed across my mind. I don't think that I, ever heard

he name before, and how I came to think of it I cannot

rnagine; it seemed to me a sort of inspiration, so I settled

on it at once."

" Now, let me see the letter," Hilda asked, as soon as
they returned home.

" I hardly liked to write it," Netta said, " it is such a
wicked story; but I don't see how a person can act as
detective without telling stories, and, at any rate, it is
perfectly harmless."

" Oh, yes; it is quite certain, Netta, that you could
not write and tell her that you have been in her house
in disguise, and that, having found out what you wanted,
you have now left her. Of course you must make up a
story of some sort, or, as you say, Simcoe would at once
suspect that you had been sent there to watch him. He
might feel perfectly sure that no conversation could have
been heard outside the room, but he could not be sure
that you might not have been hidden under the table or
sofa, or behind a curtain. When so much depends upon
nis thinking that he is absolutely safe, one must use
;vhat weapons one can. If you have any scruples about it,
I will write the" letter for you."

" No, I do not think the scruples will trouble me,"
Netta laughed. " Of course, I have had to tell stories,

A PARTIAL SUCCESS. 243

and one more or less will not weigh on my mind. Here
is the letter. If you can think of any better reason for
running away so suddenly, by all means let me have it."
The letter was written in a sprawling hand, and with
nany of the words misspelt. It began:

"Dear Mrs. Johnstone: I am afraid you will think
very badly of me for leaving you so sudding, after you
and Mr. Johnstone have been so kind to me, but who
should I meet at my friend's but my young man. We
were ingaged to be married, but we had a quarrel, and
that is why I came up to town so sudding. We has made
it up. He only come up yesterday, and is going jlown
this morning, and nothing would do but that I must go
down with him and that we should get married directly.
He says that as the banns has been published there aint
any occasion to wait, and we might be married at the end
of the week, as he has got everything ready and is in
good employment. So the long and the short of it is,
mam, that I am going down with him home this after-
noon. As to the wages that was due to-morrow, of course
I forfeit them, and sorry I am to give you troubil, by
leaving you without a girl. My box is not locked, plese
look in it and you will see that there aint nothing there
that isn't my own. In one corner you will find half a
crown wrapped up in paper, plese take that to pay for
the carriage of the box, the key is in the lock, and I send
a labil to tie on."

"What do you think of that, Hilda?"

" I think it will do capitally. I don't think any better
excuse could be made. But where will you have the box
sent?"

" That is what we must settle together. It would not
do to send it down to some little village, for if the address
was unknown it might be sent back again."
\ " Yes; and if John Simcoe had any suspicions that the
story was a false one he might go down there to make
inquiries about Jane Clotworthy, and, finding no such

244 THE LOST HEIR.

name known there, and the box still lying at the station,
his suspicion that he had been watched would become
almost a certainty."

" I should think that Reading would be a good place
to send to it. 'Jane Clotworthy, Luggage Office, Read-
ing.' Then I could go down myself and ask for it, and
could bring it up by the next train."

" Tom Roberts could do that, Netta; there is no reason
why you should trouble about it."

" I think that I had better go myself. It is most un-
likely that Simcoe would send down anyone to watch
who took the bo~ away, but if he should be very uneasy
he might do so. He would be sure to describe me to any-
one that he sent, so that it would be better that I should
go myself."

" I think that your story is so plausible, Netta, that
there is no risk whatever of his having any doubts about
it, but still one cannot be too careful."

" Then I will wind up the letter.

" * Begging your pardon for having left you in the
lurch so sudding. I remain, your obedient servant,

" ' Jane Clotworthy.

" ' P. S. — I am very sorry.

" ' P. S. — Plese give my respects to Mr. Johnstone, and
excuse blots.' "

Hilda burst into a fit of laughter as she glanced at the
postscript.

"That will do admirably, Netta," she said. "Now
how had we better send it? "

" I should think that your maid had better take it.
You might tell her to ring at the bell, hand it to the
woman, and come away at once, without talking, except
saying ' I was told to give you this.' Then she would be
well away before Mrs. Johnstone had mastered the con-
tents of the note. It had better be sent off at once, for by
this time they will be getting in a way."

"I think that I had better send Roberts. 2$o doubt

A PARTIAL SUCCESS. 245

Johnstone himself will be in, and will answer the door;
and he might ask Lucy where she came from, and I don't
want to tell her anything. Eoberts could say that a
young woman of his acquaintance, down Chelsea way,
asked him to get on a 'bus and leave it for her. He can be
trusted, if the man does detain him and ask him questions,
to give sensible answers."

The letter was sealed and Roberts called up.

" Take a cab and go down with this to Jermyn Street,"
Hilda said. " I want it left at that house, if the man
who opens the door asks you who you have brought it
from, say from a young woman, a friend of yours, in a
place down Chelsea way. I don't suppose that he will
ask any other questions, and you had best say ' Cood-
morning,' and saunter off carelessly, as if, having done
your errand, you had nothing else on hand. Of course
you won't drive up to the door. Leave the cab round the
corner, and come straight back here in it."

" All right, miss," lie answered.

There was a little look of amusement in the man's
face as he glanced at Xetta that did not this time pass
unnoticed by his mistress. She waited until the door
had closed behind him, and then turned sharply on her
friend.

" I believe, Netta, you have had Eoberts in your con-
fidence all the time, and while we have all been working
ourselves into a fever as to where you could be, he has
known it all along."

" One cannot work without accomplices," Netta
laughed. " It was necessary that someone should make
arrangements with the servant there for me to take her
place, and who could I trust better than Roberts? I
think Colonel Bulstrode's servant helped in the matter;
at any rate, they managed it capitally between them. Of
course it was Eoberts who carried my box out that morn-
ing. You must not be angry with him, Hilda, for keeping
it from you. I made him promise most faithfully that
nothing should induce him to confess."

" I shan't be angry with him, Netta, but you may be

246 THE LOST HEIR.

sure that I shall give him a little lecture and say that I
will have no mure meddling on his part, except by my
express orders. It is really annoying, you know, to think
that all this time we were fretting about you there was
Eoberts going about laughing in his sleeve."

" Well, you know, Hilda, he has the discovery of Walter
as much at heart as we have, and he has certainly not
spared himself in the search for him."

" No, that he has not. He is a faithful fellow, and I
promise you that I won't be too hard on him."

CHAPTEE XX.

A DINXER PARTY.

It was the first time that anyone had dined at the
house in Hyde Park Gardens since General Mathieson's
death, and it seemed strange to Hilda when Mr. Petti-
grew, at her request, faced her at the table. The gentle-
men had all arrived within a minute or two of each other,
and no word had been said by Hilda as to the subject
about which she had specially asked them there. The
table was well lighted and bright with flowers, and the
lawyer and Colonel Bulstrode were both somewhat sur-
prised at the cheerful tone in which Hilda began to talk
as soon as they sat down. It was, however, eight months
Bince the house was first shut up, and though all had
sincerely regTetted the General's death, it was an old
story now, and they were relieved to find that it was evi-
dently not Hilda's intention to recall the past.

During dinner the talk went on as usual, and it was
not until the servants had left the room that Hilda said:

" Now, Mr. Pettigrew, I have no doubt that both yon
and Colonel Bulstrode are wondering what the matter
of importance about which I asked you to come here can
be. It is rather a long story, so instead of going upstairs
we will stop here. My news is great news. We have dis-
covered— at least my friend Miss Purcell has discovered!
— that without doubt Walter is alive and well."

An exclamation of surprise broke from Mr. Pettigreftf
and the Colonel.

"By gad, that is great news indeed!" the latter ex-
claimed; "and I congratulate you most heartily. I had1
quite given up all hope myself, and although I would!
have fought that fellow to the last, I never had any real
doubt in my mind that the child they fished out of thg
*«nal was General's Mathieson's grandson/'

241 TEE LOST HEIh.

"You astonish nie indeed," Mr. Pettigrew said. "I
®wn that, while I was able to swear that I did not recog-
nize Mm, yet as a reasonable man I felt that the evidence
was overpowering the other way. Though I would not
dash your hopes by saying so, it appeared to me certain
that, sooner or later, the courts would decide that the
provisions of the will must be carried out. And so you
discovered this, Miss Netta? May we ask how vou
did it?" J

" Netta wanted her share in the matter to remain a
secret, Mr. Pettigrew; but I told her that was out of the
question, and that it was quite necessary that you and
Colonel Bulstrode should know the precise facts, for that,
as a lawyer, you could not take any action or decide upon
any course to be pursued unless you knew the exact
circumstances of the case. However, she asked me, as
she has given me the whole particulars, to tell the story
for her. When I have done she will answer any questions
you may like to ask."

Hilda then repeated, almost word for word, the story
Netta had told her. Mr. Pettigrew and the Colonel
several times broke in with exclamations of surprise as
she went on. Dr. Leeds sat grave and thoughtful.

" Splendidly done! " Colonel Bulstrode exclaimed when
she brought her story to an end. " It was a magnificent
idea, and it must have needed no end of pluck to carry
it out as you did. But how, by looking at a fellow's
mouth through a hole, you knew what he said beats me
altogether."

"That part was very simple, Colonel Bestrode/'
Netta said quietly. " I learned it by a new system that
they have in Germany, and was myself was a teacher in
the institution. You may not know, perhaps, that I am
stone-deaf."

"You are not joking, Miss Purcell; are you?" the
Colonel said, looking at her earnestly. "Why, I have
talked to you a dozen times and it never struck me that
you were in the slightest degree deaf."

"I am absolutely so, as Miss Covington will tell you,

x DINNER PARTY. ^49

.d Mr. Pettigrew knows it also. Fortunate*/ 1 did not
ose my hearing until I was six years old, and I had not
altogether lost the habit of speaking when I went out
to Germany, three years later. Had I been born deaf
and dumb I could have learned to understand what was
said perfectly, but should never have spoken in a natural
voice/'

" Well, it is wonderful altogether, and I should not
have believed it if a stranger had told me. However, the
great thing at present is that you have found out that
the child is alive. AVe ought not to be long in laying
hands on him now, Pettigrew, eh?"

" I hope not, Colonel; but you must not be too
sanguine about that; we have evidently very crafty
scoundrels to deal with._ Still, now that we feel sure that
Sue child is alive and well, the matter is a comparatively
straightforward one, and we can afford to work and wait
patiently. Tilbury is only a bit of a village, but beyond
that stretch great marshes — in fact, all South Essex as
far as the mouths of the rivers Crouch, Blackwater, and
Coin. He would say, ' I went down to Tilbury,' because
Tilbury is the terminus of the railway. Possibly he may
have crossed to Gravesend; possibly he may have gone
inland to TJpminster or some other village lying in that
district; or he may have driven down as far as Foulness,
which, so far as anybody knows anything about it, might
be the end of the world. Therefore, ;here is a wide area
to be searched."

" But he can be followed when he goes down again,
Mr. Pettigrew? "

" Of course, my dear, that is what must be done,
though there is no reason why we should not set about
inquiries at once. But, you see, it is not-eo easy to follow
a man about country roads as it is in the streets of
London. No doubt he must drive or ride, unless, indeed,
Walter is within two or three miles of the station, and
you may be sure that if he sees a trap coming after him
he will not go near the place where the child is. Possi-
bly, again, he may not gc near the place at aJl. but may

250 THE LOST HEIR.

meet someone who takes the money for the child's keep.
,It may be a bargeman who sails round to Harwich or
somewhere along the south coast. It may be the steward
of a steamer that goes regularly backwards and forwards
to France.

" I don't want to dishearten you, my dear," he broke
off, as he saw how Hilda's face fell as he went on, " but,
you see, we have not common rogues to deal with; their
whole proceedings have shown an exceptional amount of
coolness and determination. Although I own that I can
see nothing absolutely suspicious in the way that last
will was drawn up and sfgned, still I have never been able
to divest my mind of an idea that there is something radi-
cally wrong about it. But putting aside the strange
death of your uncle, we have the cunning way in which
the boy was stolen, the complete success with which our
search was baffled, the daring attempt to prove his death
by what we now know must have been the substitution of
the body of some other child of the same age dressed in
his clothes. All this shows how carefully every detail
must have been thought out, and we must assume that
equal care will be shown to prevent our recovering the
boy. Were they to suspect that they had been traced to
Tilbury, and were watched there, or that any inquiries
were being made in the neighborhood, you may be sure
that Walter would be at once removed some distance
away, or possibly sent abroad, perhaps to Australia or the
States. There could be no difficulty about that. There
are hundreds of emigrants going out every week with
their families, who would jump at the offer of a hundred
pounds for adopting a child, and once away it would be
next to impossible ever to come upon his traces. So,
you see, we shall need to exercise the most extreme
caution in our searches."

"I see, Mr. Pettigrew," Hilda said quietly, "that the
difficulties are far greater than I ever dreamt of. It
seemed to me that when we had found out that Walter
was alive and well, and that Tilbury was, so to speak, the
starting place of our search, it would be an easy matter

A DINNER PARTY. 251

to find him. Now I see that, except for the knowledge
that he is alive, we are nearly as far off as ever."

" I think Mr. Pettigrew is rather making the worst of
things, Miss Covington," Dr. Leeds said, speaking for
the first time. " No doubt the difficulties are consider-
able, but I think we have good heads on our side too, as
Miss Purcell has proved, and I feel confident that, now
that we have learned as much as we have done, we shall
be successful in the end."

" My opinion," Colonel Bulstrode said, " is that we
ought to give these two fellows in custody as rogues, vaga-
bonds, and kidnapers. Then the police will set to work
to find out their antecedents, and at least while they are
shut up they can do no harm. Gad, sir, we should make
6hort work of them in India."

" I am afraid that that would hardly do, Colonel Bul-
strode," Mr. Pettigrew said mildly. " We have practically
nothing to go upon; we have no evidence that a mag-
istrate would entertain for a moment. The men would
be discharged at once, and we should no doubt be served
the next morning with a writ for at least ten thousand
pounds' damages, and, what is more, they would get them;
and vou may be very sure that you would never find the
child."

" Then it is shameful that it should be so," the Colonel
said warmly; " why, I served three years as a police officer
in India, and when I got news that a dacoit, for instance,
was hiding in a jungle near a village, down I would go,
with a couple of dozen of men, surround the place, and
make every man and woman a prisoner. Then the police
would examine them, and let me tell you that they have
pretty rough ways of finding out a secret. Of course I
knew nothing about it, and asked no questions, but you
may be sure that it was not long before they made some-
one open his mouth. Hanging up a man by his thumbs,
for instance, freshens his memory wonderfully. You
may say that this thorougli way of getting at things is
not according to modern ideas. I don't care a fig for
modern ideas, and, as far as that goes, neither do the

252 THE LOST HEIR.

natives of India. My object is to find out the author of
certain crimes; the villagers' object is to shield him. If
they are obstinate, they bring it on themselves; the crim-
inal is caught, and justice is satisfied. What is the use of
police if they are not to catch criminals? I have no
patience with the maudlin nonsense that prevails in this
country, that a criminal should have every chance of
escape. He is warned not to say anything that would
incriminate himself, material evidence is not admitted,
his wife mayn't be questioned. Why, it is downright
sickening, sir. The so-called spirit of fairness is all on
the side of the criminal, and it seems to me that our
whole procedure, instead of being directed to punish crim-
inals, is calculated to enable them to escape from punish-
ment. The whole thing is wrong, sir — radically wrong."
And Colonel Bulstrode wiped his heated forehead with a
huge Indian silk handkerchief. Hilda laughed, Netta
smiled, and Mr. Pettigrew's eves i winkled.

" There is a good deal in what you say, Colonel Bul-
strode, though I cannot go with you in the matter of
hanging men up by their thumbs."

"Why, sir," broke in Colonel, "what is it? Their
own native princes would have stretched them over a
charcoal fire until they got the truth out of them."

" So, possibly, would our own forefathers, Colonel."

" Humph! They had a lot more common sense in those
days than they have now, Mr. Pettigrew. There was no
sentimentality about them; they were short and sharp
in their measures. They were men, sir — men. They
drank like men, and they fought like men; there was
sterling stuff in them; they didn't weaken their bodies by
drinking slops, or their minds by reading newspapers."

" Well, Colonel Bulstrode," Hilda said, smiling, " if it
is not contrary to your convictions, we will go upstairs
and have a cup of tea. No doubt there is something to be
said for the old days, but there is a good deal to be said
on the other side of the question, too."

When they went upstairs Dr. Leeds sat. down b^
ffetta-

A DINNER PARTY 253

"I am afraid that you blame me for what I did, Dr.
Leeds," she said timidly.

" No, I do not blame you at all for doing it, but I do
think that you ought to have consulted us all before un-
dertaking it. Your intention was a noble one, but the
risk that you ran was so great that certainly I should not
have felt justified in allowing you to undertake it, had I
had any voice in the matter."

" But I cannot see that it was dangerous," the girl
said. " He could not have knocked me down and beaien
me, even if he had caught me with my eye at the peep-
hole. He could only have called up Johnstone and de-
nounced me as an eavesdropper, and at the worst I should
only have been turned straight out of the house."

" I do not think that that would have been at all his
course of action. I believe, on the contrary, that
although he would have spoken angrily to you, he would
have said nothing to the lodging-house keeper. He would
have at once guessed that you had not taken all this
trouble merely to gratify a silly curiosity, but would have
been sure that you had been emplo}red as a spy. What he
would have done I do not know, but he would certainly
have had you watched as you watched him, and he would,
in his conversation with his confederates, have dropped
clews that would have sent us all off on wild-goose chases.
I don't think that he would have ventured on getting you
removed, for he would have known that he would have
been suspected of foul play at once by those who had
employed you. I hope you will give me a promise that
you will never undertake any plan without consulting
Miss Covington and myself. You can hardly realize what
anxiety I have suffered while you have been away."

" I will promise willingly, Dr. Leeds. I did not think
anything of the danger, and do not believe even now there
was any; but I do think that Hilda would not have heard
of my going as a servant, and that you would not have
approved of it. Still, as I saw no harm in it myself, I
thought that for once I would act upon my own ideas."

" There are circumstances under whicj* vo one need

254 TEE LOST EEIIt.

disapprove of a lady acting as a servant," he said quietly.
"If a family misfortune has happened, and she has to
earn her own living, I think that there are many who
would be far happier in the position of a servant in a
good family, than as an ill-paid and over-worked gov-
erness. The one is at least her own mistress, to a large
extent, as long as she does her work properly; the other
can never call her time her own. In your case, certainly,
the kind object with which you undertook the task was a
full justification of it, had you not been matching your-
self against an unscrupulous villain, who, had he detected
your disguise, would have practically hesitated at nothing
to rid himself of you. It happened, too, in this case you
were one of the few persons who could have succeeded;
for, as you say, it would have been next to impossible
for anyone unpossessed of your peculiar faculty to
have overheard a conversation, doubtless conducted in
a somewhat low voice, through such a hole as you
made."

" Then you don't think any worse of me for it? "

"You need not be afraid of that," he said quietly.
"My opinion is already so fixed on that subject that I
doubt if anything you could do would shake it."

Then he got up and walked across to where the others
were chatting together.

"Now, are we to have another council?" Hilda asked.

" I think not," Dr. Leeds said; " it seems to me that
the matter requires a great deal of thinking over before
we decide, and fortunately, as the man went down to
Tilbury only two days ago, he is not likely to repeat his
visit for another month at least, possibly for another
three months. Men like that do not give away chances,
and he would probably pay for three months' board for
the child at a time, so as to avoid having to make the
journey oftener, however confident he might be that he
was not watched."

" I agree with you, Dr. Leeds," Mr. Pettigrew said. " It
would never do to make a false step."

" Still," Hilda urged, " surely there cannot be any

A DINNER PARTY. 255

need to -wait for his going down again. A sharp de-
tective might find out a good deal. He could inquire
whether there was anyone at Tilbury who let out traps.
Probably nothing beyond a gig or a pony-cart could be
obtained there. He would, of course, hire it for a drive
to some place within three or four miles, and while it was
got ready would casually ask if it was often let; he might
possibly hear of someone who came down from town — a
bagman, perhaps, who hired it occasionally for calling
upon his customers in the villages round."

" I think that that is a capital suggestion," Mr. Petti-
grew said. " I don't see why, while we are thinking over
the best way to proceed, we should not get these inquiries
made. They might be of some assistance to us. I will
send a man down to-morrow or next day. As you say, it
may give us something to go uaon."

Netta went down two days later to Reading. She had
the box labeled to Oxford, and took a third-class ticket
for herself. She had a suspicion that a man who was
lolling on a seat on the platform looked closely at her,
and she saw him afterwards saunter away towards the
luggage office. When the train came in her box was put
into the van, and she got out at the next station and
returned by the first train to London, feeling satisfied
that she would never hear anything more of the box.

The next day a detective called who had been engaged
earlier in the search for Walter and had frequently seen
Hilda.

" Mr. Pettigrew said, Miss Covington, that I had better
come to you and tell you exactly what I have done. I
went down to Tilbury yesterday. I took with me one
or two cases made up like a traveler's samples, and I
presently found that the man at the public house by the
water had a pony-trap which he let. I went over to him
and said that I wanted it for the day.

" ' How far are you going? ' he asked.

"'I am going to Stanford, I said; 'then by a cross-
road by Lain don to Hornchurch and back,*

" ' It is rather a long round for one day,' he said.

256 THE LOST HEIR.

. " ' 'Tis a long round/ I said. ' Well, maybe I might
sleep at Hornchurch, and go on to Upminster.'

"'You will have to pay a deposit of a couple of
pounds/ he said, ' unless you like to take a boy/

" I said I preferred driving myself, and that it was less
weight for the pony. ' I suppose you often let it out? ' I
remarked.

"' Pretty often/ he said; 'you see, there is no way of
getting about beyond this. It would pay me to keep a
better trap if it wasn't that commercials generally work
this country in their own vehicles, and take the road
from Barking through Dagenham, or else from Brent-
wood or Chelmsford or one of the other Great Eastern
stations. There is one in your line comes occasionally;
he goes by the same route you are taking, and always has
the trap to himself. He travels for some spirit firm, I
think; he always brings down a couple of cases of
bottles.'

" ' That is my line too/ I said. ' He hasn't been here
lately, I hope?'

" ' Well, yes, he was here three or four days ago; he
is a pretty liberal chap with his samples, I should say,
for he always comes back with his cases empty.' Of*
course I hired the pony and trap. I drove through New
Tilbury, Low Street, and Stanford. I put up there for
three or four hours. At each place I went to all the
public houses, and as I marked the liquors cheap I got
several orders. I asked at every place had anyone in my
line been round lately, and they all said no, and nobody
had noticed the pony cart; but of course that did
not prove that he might not have driven through
there."

" You did not make any inquiries about a missing
child?"

"No, Miss Covington. Mr. Pettigrew particularly
told me that I was not to make any inquiries whatever."

" Yes, that is what we agreed upon, Bassett; we don't
want to run the slightest risk of their suspecting that
we are inquiring in that direction. My own idea is that

A DINNER PARTY. 257

you could do no harm if you went round several times,
just as you did yesterday; and perhaps it would be I
for you not to start from the same place, but to hire a
vehicle and drive round the country, stopping at all the
villages, and apparently trying to get orders for spirits
or tobacco. That idea of yours is an excellent one, be-
cause your inquiry whether another man had been along
in the same trade would seem natural. You might say
everywhere that you had heard of his going round there,
but that it did not look much like business driving a
rickety little trap with a pony not worth fifty shillings.
At any village public houses at which he stopped they
could hardly help noticing it, and if you heard that he
had put up there for an hour or two, it would certainly
be something to go upon, and a search round there might
lead to a result. However, do not go tmtil you hear again
from me. I will talk it ever with Mr. Pettigrew, and see
what he thinks of it."

" It certainly seems to me that we might light upon
a clew that way, ifiss Covington, and if he were to
happen to hear that another man in the same line had
been there asking questions about him, it would seem
natural enough, because of course a commercial would
like to know what line another in the same branch was
following, and how he was doing. Then I will wait your
further orders. There would be sure to be traps to be
hired at Barking or Eainham, and if there are not, I
could get one at Bromley. Indeed, as I should want it
for a day or two, it would be just as well to get it there
as farther east, and I should be likely to get a better-
looking turnout. In little places a man with a good turn-
out is more likely to do business than one who looks
second-rate altogether. It seems a sort of credit to the
place; and they would give him orders where they would
not to a man who made no sort of show. I should say,
miss, that as I shall be going over the ground more than
once, it wotdd be best to send on the goods I get orders
for; they don't amount to very much, and I should get
about the same price that I gave for then* T know a

258 THE LOST HEIR.

clerk in the tirm whose liquors I took down. 1 toia him
that I was going down in that part of Essex, and asked if
they would give me a commission on anything that I
could sell. They said 'yes' willingly enough, and the
clerk said I was a respectable man who could he trusted;
and so it will cost nothing, and will open the way for
my making another call. Of course when I am known
there I can ask questions more freely, sit in the bar-
parlor, smoke a cigar with the landlord, and so on."

" I think that is an excellent idea. Well, at any rate
you shall hear in the course of a day or two."

Miss Purcell had gone on quietly with her knitting
and uttered no remarks while the man was present. Im-
mediately he had left, she said, "I think, Netta, that we
xall gradually get at it."

" Yes, I think so; that man seems really a sharp fellow.
i had quite lost all faith in detectives, but I see that when
they have really got something to go upon, they know
how to follow it up."

Hilda wrote a long letter to Mr. Pettigrew, and re-
ceived three words in answer: " By all means." So Bas-
sett was written to and told to continue his career as a
commercial traveler, but to abstain altogether, for the
present, from any questions about the boy.

Ten days later Mr. Pettigrew forwarded a letter that
he had received from Bassett, which was as follows:

" Sir: I have to report that I have for the last fort-
night been engaged in driving about the country in ac-
cordance with Miss Covington's instructions. The only
place where I can ascertain that the pony and cart
from Tilbury was noticed about that time was at Stan-
ford. My inquiries there before had failed, but after
dining at the inn, I went out into the yard behind, and
asked the helper whether the same trap that I drove over
in from Tilbury had been there since.

" ' Not since you were here last,' he said; ' at least if
it was you as drove the pony over somewhere about three
weeks ago. I did not see you then, I was doing a job over

A DINNER PARTY. 259

at the cowhouse. That pony aint been here since then,
though he was here two days before. The man put him
up for three or four hours, and hired a horse from the
landlord to ride over to Billericay. He must have gone
cross country, I should say, by the mud on its legs.
However, he tipped me a bob, so I cleaned it up and said
nothing to master; but the horse was ail in a lather and
must have been taken along at a hunting pace all the
way.' Waiting further orders,
" I remain,

" Youx-s respectfully,

"H. Bassett."

Mr. Pettigrew came down himself in the evening.

" Well, Miss Covington, I think that the scent is get-
ting warm. Now is the time that you must be very
cautious. I think we may take it that the child is some-
where within ten or twelve miles of Stanford, north or
east of it. The man was away for over three hours, and
he rode fast. It's not likely that the horse was anything
out of the way. However, allowing for half an hour's
stay somewhere, I think we may take twelve miles as the
limit. Still, a circle of twelve miles' radius covers a very
large area. I have been looking up the map since that
man set about inquiring down there. Twelve miles would
include the whole of the marshes as far as Leigh. It
goes up to Brentwood, Billericay, Downham, and touches
Rayleigh; and in that semicircle would be some sixty or
Seventy villages, large and small."

" I have been looking at the map too, Mr. Pettigrew,
and it does not seem to me at all likely that he would
go near the places that you first mentioned; they are
quite close to the Great Eastern Bailway, by which he
would have traveled, instead of going round such an
enormous detour by Tilbury and Stanford."

" One would think so, my dear, certainly; but, you see,
a man having the least idea that he was watched, which I
admit we have no reason for believing that this fellow
has. would naturally choose a very circuitous route;

260 TEE LOST HEIR.

However, 1 think that we need hardly try so far to the
north, to begin with; I should say that the area of our
search need go no farther north than Downham, and that
between a line running west from that place and the river
the child is most likely to be hidden."

" I should say, Mr. Pettigrew, that the detective might
engage four or five fellows who could act separately in
villages on each of the roads running from Stanford east
or northeast. The villages should be at least two miles
away from Stanford, because he might start by one road
and then turn off by another. But in two miles he would
probably settle down on the road he was going to follow
and we should, therefore, get the general direction of
Walter's hiding place. Then, as soon as he passed, the
watcher should follow him on foot till he met him coming
back. If he did meet him, he would know that at any
rate he had been farther; if he did not meet him, he would
know that he had turned off somewhere between him and
the village that he had passed. Netta and I have been
talking the matter over, and it seems to us that this
would be the best plan, and that it would be as well,
also, to have a man to watch at Tilbury Station; because
he may possibly choose some entirely different route the
next time he comes, and the men in the villages, not
knowing that he had come down at all, might be kept
there for a month waiting for his next visit."

"You and your friend have certainly put your heads
together to good purpose," the old lawyer said, "and I
do not see any better plan than you suggest. You had
better have Ba"ssett down here, and give him your instruc-
tions yourself."

" Yes, Mr. Pettigrew; and I shall be glad if you will
write a line to him to-night, for in three days it will be
a month since this man last went down, or at any rate
since we know that he went down. Of course, it may
be three months before he goes again, and if he does
not come in four or five days the men must be recalled;
for although each of them could stop in a village for
& day or two under the pretense of finding work ?•* the

A DINNER PARTY. 261

neighborhood, they certainly could not stop for a
month."

" Very well, I leave you a :?ree hand in the matter,
altogv: 3S Covington; for frankly I acknowledge

that you are vastly mose iikeij i© ferret the thing oiiu
than I am,"

CHAPTER XXI.

A BOX AT THE OPEEA.

"I tell you what it is, Simcoe," Harrison said two
months later, " this affair of yours is getting to be a good
deal more troublesome than I bargained for. It all
looked simple enough; one only had to pick up a child,
drive him in a cab across London, then down in a trap to
Pitsea, hand him over to a man I knew would take good
care of him, and take the payments for him when they be-
came due, which would be no trouble, as I had to see the
man occasionally on my own business. Of course I ex-
pected that there would be a big hue and cry for him,
but I had no fear whatever of his being found. Then I
managed through another man to get that body from the
workhouse undertaker, and you managed the rest easily
enough; but I tell you that the matter is getting a good
deal hotter than I ever thought it would.

" I told you that I had been followed several times
after leaving your place, and one morning when I went
out early I saw footmarks, showing that someone had
been walking round my house and trying to look in at
the windows. I have a strong suspicion that I have been'
followed to my office, and I know that someone got ini
there one day at my dinner hour. I know, because I
always fasten a piece of thread, so that if the door i8
opened it breaks it. There is nothing there that anyone
could make anything of, but it is just as well to know if
anyone has been prying about. The woman of the house
was sure that she had not been in there, nor had she let
anyone in; so the lock must have been picked. Of course
anyone is liable to have his office robbed when he is out
and it is emoty; but nothing was taken, and if a eommon

262

A BOX AT THE OPERA. 283

thief had found nothing else he would probably have
made off with my dress suit, which would have brought
him a sov. in a second-hand clothes shop.

" You know I have an excessive objection to being
watched. I have had nothing on hand lately, at any rate
nothing that has come off, but I might have had, you
know. Well, yesterday I was going down to see my man
in the marshes, and to tell him that likely enough I
should bring something down to him next week. I got
out of the train at Tilbury, and, as you know, there are
not a dozen houses anywhere near the station. Now, I
have a habit of keeping my eyes open, and I saw a man
sitting on an old boat. What called my attention par-
ticularly to him was that he was turned half round
watching the entrance to the station as I came out. Yon
can always tell whether a man is watching for someone,
or whether he is merely looking generally in that direc-
tion, and this man was certainly watching for someone.
The instant his eye fell upon me he turned round and.
stared at the river. The path to the public house lay just
behind him. Now, it would be natural that hearing a
footstep a man doing nothing would look round and per-
haps say a word — ask the time, or something of that sort.
Well, he didn't turn round. Now, it is my habit, and a
very useful one, always to carry a glass of about the size
of a folded letter in my pocket. Instead of going on to
the public house I turned off from the path and walked
away from the river. When I had got some little distance
I took out my glass, and still walking along, I held it up
so that I could see in it what was going on behind. The
man was standing up, watching me. I put the glass in
my pocket and dropped my handkerchief. I stooped
down to pick it up, of course partly turning as I did so,
and saw that he had instantly dropped into a sitting posi-
tion again, with his back to me.

"That was good enough. I turned, cut across the
fields, went straight back to the station and took the
next ferry-boat to Gravesend, and came back that way.
It is quite clear to me that not only is this «n'»i on the ,

264 THE LOST HEIR.

track still, but the chase is getting to be a very hot one,
and that not only are they watching you, but they are
watching me, and have in some way or other, though how,
I cannot guess, found out that I go down to Tilbury,
and have accordingly sent a man down to follow me.
Now, I tell you frankly, I will have no more to do with
the matter — that is to say, as far as going down on your
business. As I have told you, I have always managed
my own affairs so well that the police and I have no
acquaintance whatever; and I am not going to be spied
upon and followed and have the 'tecs upon my track
about an affair in which I have no interest at all, except
that, you having stood by my brother, I was glad to do
you any service I could. But this is getting serious. I
don't like it. I have told you I have business with the
man, and get things off abroad through him that I should
have great trouble in getting rid of in any other way; but
unless in quite exceptional cases, these things are so
small that they could be hidden away for months without
much risk of their being found, however sharp the hunt
after them might be. As I am in no way pressed for
money I can afford to wait, though I own that I like to
get the things off my hands as soon as I can, and as .1
considered that I ran practically no risk in going down
with them into Essex, I never kept them at my house.
However, for a time I must do so. I must tell you that
when I am going down I always write beforehand and
make an appointment for him to have his barge at the
wharf at Pitsea, and I send my letter addressed to him:
'Mr. William Mbson, barge Mary Ann, care of Mr.
Scholey, Spotted Horse, Pitsea.' You had better write
to him in future. You need not put anything inside the
envelope except notes for twenty-five pounds, and the
words, ' For the child's keep for six months.' I need not
say that you had better disguise your writing, both on
the envelope and on the inside, and it is best that you
should get your notes from some bookmaker on a race-
course. You tell me you often go to races now and do a
little betting. They are not the sort of men who take

A BOX AT THE OPERA. 265

me numbers of the notes they pay out, and it would be
next to impossible for them to be traced to you."

■ " Thank you, Harrison; you have behaved like a true
pal to me, and I am ever so much obliged to you. I cp.ute
see what you mean, and indeed it is as much for my
interest as yours that you should not go down there any
more. Confound that girl Covington! I am sure she is
the moving spirit of it all. I always felt uneasy about
her from the first, and was sure that if there was any
trouble it would come from her. I wonder how the deuce
she ever found out that you went down to Tilbury."

" That beats me too, Simcoe. As you may guess, I am
always most cautious about it, and always take a very,
roundabout way of going to the station."

" I have been uneasy ever since that girl at our place
left so suddenly. A fortnight afterwards we found that
there was a hole bored through the doorpost. Of course
it might have been bored before I went there; but in that
case it is curious that it was never noticed before. I can-
not help thinking that she did it."

" Yes, you told me; but you said that you tried the
experiment, and found that when your man and his wife
were talking there in a loud voice,, and you had your ear
at the hole, you could not catch a single word."

" Yes, that was certainly so. I could hear them talk-
ing, but I could not make out a word of their conversa-
tion. Still it is evident that somebody has been trying
to hear. I cannot help thinking that it was that girl,
though both Johnstone and his wife spoke very highly of
her. Certainly the story she told them was true to a
certain extent, for when they sent the box down to Bead-
ing I sent a man down there to watch, and she called to
fetch it, and my man found out that she labeled it
* Oxford,' and took it away with her on the down train.
As he had no directions to follow her farther he came
back. After we found the hole I. sent him down again;
but he never came upon her traces, though he inquired
at every village near Oxford."

" She may have been put there as a spy/' the other

266 THE LOST HEIR.

said; " but as it is evident that she couldn't hear through
that hole, it is clear that she could not have done them
any good. That is, I suppose, why they called her off;
so the puzzle still remains how they got on my track at
Tilbury. I should like to have a good look at this Cov-
ington girl. I can admire a clever wench, even when she
is working against me."

" There is ' The Huguenots ' at Her Majesty's to-night
the first time this season. She very often goes in Lady
Moulton's box, and it is likely enough that she will go
to-night. It's the third box from the stage, on the first
tier; I will go down to Bond Street and see if I can get
hold of a box opposite, on the second or third tier. The
money will be well laid out, for I should very much like
you to study her face, and I won enough at pool at the
club tliis afternoon to pay for it."

" Very well, then I will come round to your place. I
really am curious to see the girl. I only caught a passing
glimpse of her in the park that day."

Simcoe was not wrong in his conjecture, for Hilda
dined at Lady Moulton's, and they took their places in
the latter's box just as the first bar of the overture
sounded. She was in half mourning now, and in black
lace, with white camellias in her hair and breast, was, ar:
Netta had told her before starting, looking her best

" That is the girl," Simcoe exclaimed, as she wen ;
forward to the front of the box.

" Well, there is no denying that she is good-looking/;
the other said, as he turned his glasses upon her; " there
is not a better-looking woman in the house. Plenty c:
self-possession too," he added, as Hilda took her seai;
and at once, in apparent ignorance that any glasses were
.upon her, took her own lorgnettes from their case ant,
proceeded calmly to scan the stalls and boxes, to s^c
who among her numerous acquaintances were there. A?
iier eyes fell upon the two men sitting nearly opposite t j
iher, her glasses steadied, then after a minute she lowered
them.

"Lady Moulton, I regard it as a providence that ~ ' >'

A BOX AT THE OPERA 267

brougnt me here this evening. Do you see those two
men there in the box nearly opposite, in the second tier?
Well, one of the men is Simcoe, to whom my uncle left
all his property if Walter should not live to come oil
age. and who I am absolutely convinced carried the child
away."

"I see them, my dear; they arc staring at you. I
suppose they are as much interested in you as you in
them."

Hilda again put her glasses to her eyes.

- ie has just told Lady Moulton who I am," Simcoe
said.

She has a clever face, Simcoe — broad across the
chin — any amount of determination, I should say. Ah!
there, she is getting up to make room for somebody
else."

ay where you are, my dear," Lady Moulton
putting her hand on Hilda's arm; " there is plent
room for three."

" Plenty," she replied; " but I want to watch those two
men. and I cannot keep my glasses fixed on them while I
am sitting in the front row."

[ardly, my dear," Lady Moulton said with a smile.
" Well, have your own wa

A fourth lady came in almost immediately. She took
the third chair in the front, and Hilda, sitting half in
the shade, was able to devote herself to her purpose free
from general observation. She had already heard that
Simcoe's companion had apparently suspected that he
was watched, and had returned to town at once without
speaking to anyone at Tilbury. She felt that he would
probably henceforth choose some other route, and the
chances of following him would be greatly dimini
The opportunity was a fortunate one

she had been hoping that some day or other she could
watch these men talking, and now, as it seem;
dent, just at the moment when her hopes
chance had come to her.

"She has Ranged her place in order to have a b<

20 & THE LOST HEIR

look at us," John Simcoe said, as she moved. ■• She has
got her glasses on us."

" We came to stare at her. It s.eems to me that she
is staring at us," Harrison said.

" Well, I should think that she knows my face pretty
well by this time," Simcoe laughed. " I told you she
has a way of looking through one that has often made
me uncomfortable."

" I can quite understand that. I noticed myself that
when she looked at us, without her glasses, there was a
curious intentness in her expression, as if she was taking
stock of every point about us. She cannot be the girl
who has been to your lodriug."

"Certainly not," the otker said; "I know her a great
deal too well for her to try that on. Besides, beyond the
fact that the other was a good-looking girl too — and, by
the way, that she had the same trick of looking full in
your face when you spoke — there was no resemblance
whatever between them."

The curtain now drew up, and silence fell upon the
house, and the men did not speak again until the end of
the first act. They then continued their conversation
where they had left it off.

" She has moved, and has been attending to the opera,"
Simcoe said; " but she has gone into the shade again,
and is taking another look at' us."

" I am not given to nervousness, but upon my word
those glasses fixed upon me make me quite fidgety."

" Pooh, man! she is not looking at you; she is looking
at me. I don't know whether she thinks that she can
read my thoughts, and find out where the child is hidden.
By the way, I know nothing about this place Pitsea.
Where is it, and which is the best way to get
there?"

" You can drive straight down by road through Upmin-
ster and Laindon. The place lies about three miles this
side of Benfieet. There are only about half a dozen
houses, at the end of a creek that comes up. from Hole
Haven. But I should not think of £roing near the

A BOX AT TEE OPERA J69

house. The latter, directed as I told you, is sure to find
the man."

" Oh, I am not thinking of going! but I shall get a
man to watch the fellows they sent down to watch you,
and if I find that they seem to be getting on the right
track, I shall run down at all hazards and take him
away."

" Your best plan by far will be to go with him, on
board Nibson's barge, up to Rochester. No doubt he
can find some bargeman there who will take the boy in.
Or, what would perhaps be better, hire a trap there, and
drive him down to Margate or Ramsgate. There are
plenty of schools there, and you might get up a yarn
about his being a nephew of yours, and leave him there
for a term or two. That would give you time to decide.
By this time he will have but a very faint remembrance
of his life in town, and anything that he may say about
it will certainly meet with no attention."

" Would it be as well to do it at once, do you think? "
Simcoe asked.

" No; we have no idea how many people they may
have on the watch, and it would be only running unneces-
sary risks. Stick to the plan that we have already agreed
on, of communicating only by writing. But I think your
idea of sending two or three sharp fellows down there to
find out what the party are doing is really a good one."

Hilda lowered her glasses as the curtain rose' again.
" Oh, Lady Moulton! " she whispered, " I have found out
all that I have been so long wanting to know. I believe
now that in three days I shall have the child home again."

Lady Moulton turned half round.

"How on earth have you found that out, Hilda? Arc
you a wizard indeed, who can read men's thoughts in
their faces? I always thought that there was something
uncanny about you, ever since that day of my fete."

To Harrison's relief, Miss Covington did not turn her
glass towards him again during the evening. When the
curtain fell on the next act a gentleman, to whom Lady
Moulton had nodded in the stalls, came in. After shaking

270 THE LOST HEIR.

hands with her and her friends, he seated himself by the
side of Hilda.

■■ Miss Covington," he said, " I have never had an op-
portunity of speaking to you since that fete at Lady
Moulton's. I have understood that the gypsy on that
occasion was engaged by you, and that there was, if you
will excuse me saying so, some little mystery about it. I
don't wish to pry into that, but if you should ever see
the woman again you will oblige me very greatly by tell-
ing her that I consider I owe her a deep debt of gratitude.
She said something to me then that made a tremendous
impression upon me, and I do not mind telling you it
brought me up with a round turn. I had been going ahead
a great deal too fast, and I see now that, had I continued
on the same course. I should have brought absolute ruin
upon myself, and blighted my life in every way. The shock
she gave me by warning me what would come if I did
nor give up cards and racing showed me my utter folly, and
on that day I swore never to touch a card or lay a penny
upon a horse for the rest of my life. When I tell you
that I have completely pulled myself round, and that, by
the aid of an old uncle, to whom I went and made a clean
breast of all, I am now straight in every way, and, as you
may have heard, am going to be married to Miss Fortescue
in a fortnight, you may guess what. deep reason I have
to be grateful to this gypsy woman of yours, and how I
hope that, should you come across her again, you will tell
her so, and should there be any possible way in which
I can prove my gratitude, by money or otherwise, I shall
be delighted to do so."

" I will tell her, Captain Desmond," the girl said in a
low voice. " I am sure that it will make her happy to
know that she did some good that evening. I do not
think that she is in need of money or assistance of any
kind, but should she be so I will let you know."

" And do you really mean that you have discovered
where General Mathieson's grandson is living?" Lady
Moulton asked, as they rose to leave their seats when the
curtain fell.

A BOX AT THE OPERA. 271

•* i think so; I am almost sure of it."

Lady Moulton had heard a good deal from Hilda as
to the situation. Mr. Pettigrew had strongly impr
upon both Hilda and Colonel Bulstrode that it was very
important that the contents of the will should not be
talked about. "We don't want our private affairs dis-
cussed in the press and made the subject of general talk,"
he had said, and it was only to Lady Moulton that Hilda
had spoken freely of the matter, so far as the discovery
of the new will, the change that had been made, and the
singularity of Walter being missing. She had also men-
tioned her belief that Simcoe was at the bottom of ibis,
but had breathed no words of her suspicion that the Gen-
eral had come to his death by foul play, or of her own
conviction that Simcoe was an impostor, although there
had been some talk in the clubs over the matter, for
Colonel Bulstrode was by no means so discreet as Hilda,
and among his intimate friends spoke his mind with great
vehemence and strength of language as to General
Mathieson having made so singular a disposition of his
property, and he made no secret of his suspicion that
Simcoe was at the bottom of Walter's disappearance.
Thus the matter had gradually gone the ronnd of the
clubs; but it was not until Simcoe's own counsel had
drawn from him the fact that Walter's death would put
him into possession of the estate that the public in gen-
eral learned the facts.

" It was a clever move," Mr. Pettigrew had said, talk-
ing it over with his partner. " No doubt he was afraid
that the question would be asked by our counsel, and he
thought that it was better that the fact should come
voluntarily from himself. His best plan by far was to
brazen it out. No doubt nine men out of ten will con-
sider that the affair is a very suspicious one, and some of
them will give him the cold shoulder; but whatever their
opinions, they dare not express them without laying them-
selves open to an action for libel, while, on the other
hand, the fact that a man is heir to ;i good estate will
always eause a good many to rally round him. Not the

272 THE LOST HEIR

best of men, you know, but enough to prevent Ms oeing
a lonely figure in a club.

" Yes, I think he was certainly well advised to declare
his heirship voluntarily, instead of having it drawn from
him. He must have known, of course, that sooner or
later the matter would be made public, and it is better
for him to get the talk and gossip over now instead of
the matter being known for the first time when he begins
to take legal steps to compel us to put him into possession
of the estate."

" What on earth did you mean, Hilda," Lady Moultoni
said, as the door of the carriage was closed and they
drove off from Her Majesty's, "by saying that you hadi
discovered a clew by which you might in a few days find'
your little cousin?"

" I cannot tell you exactly how I discovered it. At
present it is a secret that both my mother and uncle
charged me to keep, but when these troubles are over I
will explain it all to you, though I should certainly do s«
to no one else."

" Well, I suppose I must be content with that, Hilda.
But it certainly does seem extraordinary to me that by
merely seeing two men in a. box on the other side of the
house you should have , obtained a clew to what you have
for a year now been trying to get at."

" It does seem extraordinary, Lady Moulton, but it
really is not so, and I hope to convince you that I am
right by producing Walter in a week from the present
time."

"I hope you will, Hilda. I sincerely hope so, both1
for the child's sake, yours, and my own. Of course,
when he is found there will be no possible reason for jour
keeping yourself shut up as you have done. I have missed
you very much, and shall be very glad to have you under
my wing again." '

"Thank you for saying so, Lady Moulton; but so far
as I have formed my plans, they are that Walter's trus-
tees shall either let or sell the house in Hyde Park Gar-
dens., and that I shall go down for a time with him into

A BOX AT TEE OPEE^. 213

the couniry. I have had a great deal of anxiety this
car, and I shall be very glad of complete rest for a
time."

" That is reasonable enough, my dear, but I do hope
that ycu are not thinking of burying yourself in the
country for good. There, I am at home. Gocd-night,
Hilda; thanks for the lift. It is not often my horses or
my coachmen have a night off during the seas.

CHAPTEE XXII.

NEAPING THE GOAL.

*'I suppose Miss Netta is in bed? " Hilda asked, as she
entered the house.

" Yes, miss; she and Miss Purcell went to their rooms
soon after ten o'clock."

Hilda ran upstairs to Netta's room.

" Are you awake, Netta ? " she asked, as she opened
the door.

ell, 1 think I was asleep, Hilda; I didn't intend to
go off, for I made sure that you would come in for a chat,
as usual, when you got back; but I think I must have
dozed off."

" Well, if you had been so sound asleep that I had

had to violently wake you up, I should have done so. I

had my chance, Netta. Simcoe and his friend were

in a box opposite to ours, and I have learned where

er is."

" That is news indeed," Netta exclaimed, leaping up;
" that is worth being awakened a hundred times for.
Please hand me my dressing-gown. Now let us sit down
and talk it over comfortably."

Hilda then repeated the whole conversation that she
had overheard.

" Splendid! " Netta exclaimed, clapping her hands;
" and that man was fight, de.ar, in feeling uncomfortable
when your glasses were fixed on his face, though he little
guessed what reason he had for the feeling. Well, it is
worth all the four years you spent with us to have learned
to read people's words from their lips. I always said that
you were my best pupil, and you have proved it so now.
What is to be done next ? "

" We shall need a general council for that' ?s Hilda

874

NEAEING TEE 00 275

laughed. " We must do nothing rash now that success
seems so closo: a false move might spoil everything."

" Yes, we shall have to be very careful. This bargeman
may not live near there at all; though no doubt he goes
there pretty often, as letters are sent there for him. Be-
sides, Simcoe may have someone stationed there to find
out whether any inquiries have been made for a missing
child."

" Yes, I see that we shall have to be very careful,
Netta, and we must not spoil our chances by being over
hasty."

They talked for upwards of an hour, and then went to
their beds. The next morning Roberts took a note to
Dr. Leeds. It contained only a few lines from Hilda:

"My Deab Dr. Leeds: We have found a most im-
portant clew, and are going to have a consultation, at
which, of course, we want you to be present. Could you
manage to be at Mr. Pettigrew's office at three o'clock?
If so, on hearing from you, I will send to him to make an
appointment."

The answer came back:

" I congratulate you heartily, and will meet you at
three o'clock at Pettigrew's office.'"

A note was at once sent off to the lawyer's to make
the appointment, and the girls arrived with Miss Purcell
two or three minutes before the hour, and were at once
shown into Mr. Pettigrew's room, where Mr. Farmer im-
mediately joined them.

" I will wait a minute or two before I begin," Hilda
said. " I have asked Dr. Leeds to join us here. He has
been so very kind throughout the whole matter that we
thought it was only fair that he should be here."

" Certainly, I thoroughly agree with you. I never
thought that terrible suspicion of his well founded, but
he certainly took immense pains in collecting information

276 THE LOST HEIR.

of all sorts about these native poisons, and since then has
shown the greatest desire to assist in any way."

A minute later Dr. Leeds was shown in.

" Now, Miss Covington," Mr. Farmer said, " we are
ready to hear your communication."

Hilda then related what she had learned at the opera.

" Really, Miss Covington," Mr. Farmer continued, " it
is a thousand pities that you and your friend cannot
utilize your singular accomplishment in the detective line.
You ought to make a fortune by it. I have, of course,
heard from my partner of the education that you had in-
Germany, and of your having acquired some new system
by which you can understand what people are saying by
watching their lips, but I certainly had no conception
that it could be carried to such an extent as you have
just proved it can. It is like gaining a new sense. Now
I suppose you have come to us for advice as to what had
best be done next."

" That is it, Mr. Farmer. I\ is quite evident to us that
we must be extremely careful, for if these people suspect
that we are so far on their tracOz, they might remove
"Walter at once, and we might never be able to light upon
a clew again."

" Yes, I see that. Of course, if we were absolutely in a
position to prove that this child has been kept down near
ritsea with their cognizance we could arrest them at
once; but, unfortunately, in the words you heard there
was no mention of the child, and at present we have
nothing but a series of small circumstantial facts to
adduce. You believe, Mr. Pettigrew tells me, that the
man who calls himself John Simcoe is an impostor who
has no right to the name, and that General Mathieson
was under a complete delusion when he made that ex-
traordinary will. You believe that, or at any rate you
have a suspicion that, having got the General to make
the will, he administered some unknown drug that finally
caused his death. You believe that, as this child alone
stood between him and the inheritance, he had him car-
ried off with the assistance of the other man. -"You be-

FEARING THE GOAL. 277

lieve that the body the coroner's jury decided to be that
of Walter Rivington was not his, and that the child him-
self is being kept out of the way somewhere in Essex,
and you believe that the conversation that you most
singularly overheard related to him.

" But, unfortunately, all these beliefs are unsupported
by a single legal fact, and I doubt very much whether
any magistrate would issue a warrant for these men's
arrest upon your story being laid before him. Even if
they were arrested, some confederate might hasten down
to Pitsea and carry the child off; and, indeed, Pitsea may
only be the meeting-place of these conspirators, and the
child may be at Limehouse or at Chatham, or at any other
place frequented by barges. Therefore we must for the
present give up all idea of seizing these men. Any re-
searches at Pitsea itself are clearly attended by danger,
and yet I see no other way of proceeding."

" It seems/' Dr. Leeds said, " that this other man, who
appears to have acted as Simcoe's agent throughout the
affair, took the alarm the other day, and instead of taking
a trap as usual from Tilbury, returned to the station,
took the ferry across to Gravesend, and then, as we sup-
pose, came up to town again, told Simcoe that he found
he was watched, and that Simcoe must himself take the
matter up. Evidently, by what Miss Covington overheard,
he had instructed him where and how to communicate
with this bargeman, or in case of necessity to find him.
I should think that the first step would be to withdraw
the men now on watch, for it is possible that they may
also send down men to places in the locality of Pitsea.
In point of fact, your men have been instructed to make
no such inquiries, but only to endeavor to trace where
Simcoe's agent drives to. Still, I think it would be as
well to withdraw them at once, as they can do no further
good."

Mr. Pettigrew nodded.

" I know nothing of Pitsea," the doctor went on, " but
I do know Hole Haven. When I was walking the hos-
pital, three or four of us had a little sailing-boat, and

278 TEE LOST EEIR,

used to go out from Saturday until Monday morning.
Hole Haven was generally the limit of our excursions.
It is a snug little harbor for small boats, and there is
a comfortable old-fashioned little inn there, where we
used to sleep. The coastguards were all sociable fellows,
ready to chat with strangers and not averse to a small
tip. Of course the same men will not be there now, nor
would it be very safe to ask questions of them; for no
doubt they are on friendly terms with the men on the
barges which go up and down the creek. I might, how-
ler, learn something from them of the ways of these
men, and I should think that, on giving my card to the
petty officer in charge, I could safely question him. I
don't suppose that he would know where this man Nibson
has his headquarters. If he lives at Eochester, or Chat-
ham, or at Limehouse, or Shadwell, he certainly would
not know him; but if he lives at Pitsea he might know
him. I fancy they keep a pretty sharp lookout on the
barges. I know that the coastguard told me that there
was still a good deal of smuggling carried on in the
marshes between Leigh and Thames Haven. I fancy, from
what he said, that the Leigh fishermen think it no harm
to run a few pounds of tobacco or a keg of spirit from a
massing ship, and, indeed, as there are so many vessels
Aat go ashore on the sands below, and as they are gen-
erally engaged in unloading them or helping them to get
off, they have considerable facilities that way. At any
rate, as an old frequenter of the place and as knowing
the landlord — that is to say if there has been no change
there — no suspicion could fall upon me of going down
there in reference to your affair. To-day is Friday. On
Sunday morning, early, I will run down to Gravesend,
hire a boat there, and will sail down to Hole Haven. It
will be an outing for me, and a pleasant one; and at least
I can be doing no harm."

" Thank you very much indeed, Dr. Leeds," Hilda said
warmly; " that is a splendid idea."

On Sunday evening Dr. Leeds called at Hydf ^ark
Gardens to report his day's work.

NEARINO TEE GOAL. 279

" I think that my news is eminently satisfactory. I
saw the petty officer in command of the coastguard
station;, and he willingly gave me all the information in
his power. He knew the bargee, Bill Nibson. He is up
and down the creek, he says, once and sometimes twice a
week. He has got a little bit of a farm and a house on
the bank of the creek a mile and a half on this side of
Pitsea. They watch him pretty closely, as they do all
the men who use the creek; there is not one of them who
does not carry on a bit of smuggling if he gets the
chance.

" ' I thought that was almost given up/ I said. ' Oh,
no; it is carried on,' he replied, ' on a much smaller scale
than it used to be, but there is plenty of it, and I should
say that there is more done that way on the Thames
than anywhere else. In the first place, Dutch, German,
and French craft coming up the channels after dark can
have no difficulty whatever in transferring tobacco and
spirits into barges or fishing-boats. I need hardly say
it is not ships of any size that carry on this sort of busi-
ness, but small vessels, such as billy-boys and craft of
that sort. They carry their regular cargoes, and proba-
bly never bring more than a few hundredweight of
tobacco and a dozen or so kegs of spirits. It is doubtful
whether their owners know anything of what is being
done, and I should say that it is generally a sort of specu-
lation on the part of the skipper and men. On this side
the trade is no doubt in the hands of men who either
work a single barge or fishing-boat of their own, or who
certainly work it without the least suspicion on the part
of the owners.

" ' The thing is so easily arranged. A man before he
starts from Ostend or Hamburg, or the mouth of the
Seine, sends a line to his friends here, at Eochester or
Limehouse or Leigh, " Shall sail to-night. Expect to
come up the south channel on Monday evening." The
bargeman or fisherman runs down at the time arranged,
and five or six miles below the Nore brings up and shows
a light. He knows that the craft he expects will not be

280 THE LOST HEIR-

up before that time, for if the wind was extremely favora-
ble, and they made the run quicker than they expected,
they would bring up in Margate Roads till the time ap-
pointed. If they didn't arrive that night, they would do
so the next, and the barge would lay there and wait for
them, or the fishermen would go into Sheerness or Leigh
and come out again the next night.

" ' You might wonder how a barge could waste twenty-
four or forty-eight hours without being called to ac-
count by its owners, but there are barges which will
anchor up for two or three days under the pretense that
the weather is bad, but really from sheer laziness.

" ' That is one way the stuff comes into the country,
and, so far as I can see, there is no way whatever of
stopping it. The difficulty, of course, is with the landing,
and even that is not great. -When the tide turns to run
out there are scores, I may say hundreds, of barges
anchored between Chatham and G-ravesend. They gen-
erally anchor close in shore, and it would require twenty
times the number of coastguards there are between
Chatham and Gravesend on one side, and Foulness and
Tilbury on the other, to watch the whole of them and to
see that boats do not come ashore.

" ' A few strokes and they are nhere. One man will
wait in the boat while the other goes up onto the bank
to see that all is clear. If it is, the things are carried up
at once. Probably the barge has put up some flag that
is understood by friends ashore; they are there to meet
it, and in half an hour the kegs are either stowed away
in lonely farmhouses or sunk in some of the deep ditches,
and there they will remain until they can be fished up
and sent off in a cart loaded with hay or something of
that sort. You may take it that among the marshes on
the banks of the Medway and Thames there is a pretty
good deal done in the way of smuggling still. We keep
a very close eye upon all the barges that come up here,
but it is very seldom that we make any catch. One can-
not seize a barge like the Mary Ann, that is the boat be-
longing to Nibson, with perhaps sixty tons of manure or

NEAEING THE GOAL, 281

cement or bricks, and unload it without some specific
information that would justify our doing so. Indeed,
we hardly could unload it unless we took it out into the
Thames and threw the contents overboard. We could
not carry it up this steep, stonefaced bank, and higher up
there are very few places where a barge could lie along-
side the bank to be unloaded. We suspect Nibson of
doing something that way, but we have never been able
to catch him at it. We have searched his place suddenly
three or four times, but never found anything sus-
picious.'

" ' May I ask what family the man has ? ' I said.

" He shook his head. ' There is his wife — I have seen
her once or twice on board the barge as it has come in
and out — and there is a boy, who helps him on the barge
— I don't know whether he is his son or not. I have no
idea whether he has any family, but I have never seen a
child on the barge.'

" All this seemed to be fairly satisfactory. I told him
that we suspected that a stolen child was kept in Nibson's
house, and asked him whether one of his men off duty
would, at any time, go with me in a boat and point out
the house. He said that there would be no difficulty
about that. My idea, Miss Covington, was that it would
be by far the best plan for us to go down with a pretty
strong party — that is to say, two or three men — and to
go from Gravesend in a boat, arriving at Hole Haven at
eleven or twelve o'clock at night. I should write before-
hand to the coastguard officer, asking him to have a man
in readiness to guide us, and then row up to the house.
In that way we should avoid all chance of a warning being
sent on ahead from Pitsea, or from any other place where
they might have men on watch.

" I mentioned this to the officer, and he said, ' Well,
I don't see how you could break into the man's house.
If the child is not there you might find yourself in a
very awkward position, and if Nibson himself happened
to be at home he would be perfectly justified in using
firearms.' I said of course that was a point I must con-

282 THE LOST HEIR.

sider. It is indeed a point on which we must take Mr.
Pettigrew's opinion. But probably we shall have to lay
an information before the nearest magistrate, though I
think myself that if we were to take the officer into our
confidence — and he seemed to me a bluff, hearty fellow —
he would take a lot of interest in the matter, and might
stretch a point, and send three or four men down after
daPk to search the place again for smuggled goods. You
see, he has strong suspicions of the man, and has searched
his place more than once. Then, when they were about it,
we could enter and seize Walter. Should there be a mis-
take altogether, and the child not be found there, we could
give the officer a written undertaking to hold him free
in the very unlikely event of the fellow making a fuss
about his house being entered."

The next morning Hilda again drove up with Ketta to
see Mr. Pettigrew.

" We must be careful, my dear; we must be very care-
ful," he said. " If we obtain a search warrant, it can
only be executed during the day, and even if the coast-
guards were to make a raid upon the place, we, as civil-
ians, would not have any right to enter the house. I
don't like the idea of this night business — indeed, I do
not see why it should not be managed by day. Ap-
parently, from what Dr. Leeds said, this Hole Haven is a
place where little sailing-boats often go in. I don't know
much of these matters, but probably in some cases gen-
tlemen are accompanied by ladies, and no doubt some-
times these boats go up the creeks. Now, there must be
good-sized boats that could be hired at G-ravesend, with
men accustomed to sailing them, and I can see no reason
why we should not go down in a party. I should cer-
tainly wish to be there myself, and think Colonel Bul-
strode should be there. You might bring your two men,
and get an information laid before an Essex magistrate
and obtain a warrant to search this man's place for a child
supposed to be hidden there. By the way, I have a client
who is an Essex magistrate; he lives near Billericay. I
will have an information drawn out, and will go myself

HEARING THE GOAL. 283

with it and see him; it is only about five miles to drive
from Brentwood Station. If I sent a clerk down, there
might be some difficulty, whereas, when I personally ex-
plain the circumstances to him, he will, I am sure, grant
it. At the same time I will arrange with him that two
of the county constabulary shall be at this place, Hole
Haven, at the time we arrive there, and shall accompany
us to execute the warrant. Let me see," and he turned
to his engagement book, " there is no very special matter
on for to-morrow, and I am sure that Mr. Farmer will see
to the little matters that there are in my department.
By the way, it was a year yesterday since the General's
death, and we have this morning been served with a
notice to show cause why we should not proceed at once
to distribute the various legacies under his will. I don't
think that refers to the bequest of the estates, though,
of course, it may do so, but to the ten thousand pounds
to which Simcoe is clearly entitled. Of course, we should
appear by counsel in any case; but with Walter in our
hands we can bring him to his knees at once, and he will
have to wait some time before he touches the money.
We cannot prevent his having that. He may get five
years for abducting the child, but that does not affect
his claim to the money."

" Unless, Mr. Pettigrew, we could prove that he is not
John Simcoe."

" Certainly, my dear," the lawyer said, with an indul-
gent smile. "Your other theories have turned out very
successful, I am bound to admit; but for this you have
not a shadow of evidence, while he could produce a dozen
respectable witnesses in his favor. However, we need not
trouble ourselves about that now. As to the abduction
of the child, while our evidence is pretty clear against
the other man, we have only the fact against Simcoe that
he was a constant associate of his, and had an immense
interest in the child being lost. The other man seems
to have acted as his intermediary all through, and so far
as we actually know, Simcoe has never seen the child
since he was taken away. Of course, if Walter can prove

284 THE LOST HEIR.

to the contrary, the case is clear against him; but with-
out this it is only circumstantial, though I fancy that
the jury would be pretty sure to convict. And now. how
about the boat? Who will undertake that? "We are
rather busy at present, and could scarcely spare a clerk
to go down.''

" "We will look after that, Mr. Pettigrew; it is only an
hour's run to Gravesend, and it will be an amusement for
us. We will take Roberts down with us. What day shall
we fix it for? "

" Well, my dear, the sooner the better. I shall get the
warrant to-morrow, and there is no reason why the con-
stable should not be at Hole Haven the next day, at, say,
two in the afternoon. So if you go down to-morrow
and arrange for a boat, the matter may as well be carried
out at once, especially as I know that 3rou are burning
with anxiety to get the child back. Of course this rascal
of a bargeman must be arrested."

" I should think that would depend partly on how he
has treated Walter," Hilda said. "I don't suppose he
knows who he is, or anything of the circumstances of
the case; he is simply paid so much to take charge of
him. If he has behaved cruelly to him it is of course
right that he should be punished; but if he has been
kind to him I don't see why he should not be let off.
Besides, we may want him as a witness against the
others."

" Well, there is something in that. Of course we
might, if he were arrested, allow him to turn Queen's
evidence, but there is always a certain feeling against
this class of witness. However, we needn't discuss that
now. I suppose that we ought to allow an hour and a
half or two hours to get to this place from Gravesend,
but you can find that out when you hire the boat. Of
course, it mil depend a good deal on which way the tide
is. By the way, you had better look to that at once;
for if it is not somewhere near high tide when we get
to Hole Haven there may not be water enough to row up
the creek."

HEARING THE GOAL. 285

He called in one of the clerks, and told him to go out
to get him an almanac with a tide-table.

" I want to know when it will be high water the day
after to-morrow at Gravesend," he said.

" I can tell you that at once, sir. When I came across
Waterloo Bridge this morning at a quarter to nine the
tide was running in. I should say that it was about
half-flood, and would be high about twelve o'clock. So
that it will be high about half-past one o'clock on
"Wednesday. It is about three-quarters of an hour earlier
at Gravesend. I don't know whether that is near enough
for you, sir? "

" Yes, that is near enough, thank you. So, you see,"
he went on after the clerk had left the room, " the tide
will be just about high when you get to Gravesend, and
you will get there in about an hour, I should say. I
don't know exactly how far this place is, but I should
say seven or eight miles; and with a sail, or, if the wind
is contrary, a couple of oars, you will not be much
above an hour, and I should think that there will be still
plenty of water in the creek. You had better see Colonel
Bulstrode. As joint trustee he should certainly be there."

They drove at once to the Colonel's and found him
in. He had not heard of the discovery Hilda had made,
and was greatly excited at the prospect of so soon re-
covering Walter, and bringing, as he said, " the rascals
to book."

The next morning they went down with Roberts to
Gravesend, to engage a large and roomy boat with two
watermen for their trip. Just as they were entering
Hyde Park Gardens, on their return, a man passed them.
Roberts looked hard at him, and then said, " If you don't
want me any more now, miss, I should like to speak to
that man; he is an old fellow-soldier."

" Certainly, Roberts. I shall not want you again for
some time."

Roberts hurried after the man. " Sergeant Nichol,"
he said, as he came up to him, " it is years since I saw
you last-"

283 THE LOST HEIR.

"I remember your face, if I do not remember your
name/' the man said.

" I am Tom Eoberts. I was in your company, you
know, before you went onto the staff."

" I remember you now, Eoberts," and the two shook
hands heartily. " What are you doing now? If I re-
member right, you went as servant to General Mathieson
when you got your discharge."

" Yes; you see, I had been his orderly for two or three
years before, and when I got my discharge with my
pension, I told him that I should like to stop with him
if he would take me. I was with him out there for five
years after; then I came home, and was with him until
his death, and am still in the service of his niece, Miss
Covington, one of the young ladies I was with just now.
And what are you doing? "

" I am collector for a firm in the City. It is an easy
berth, and with my pension I am as comfortable as a
man can wish to be."

So they chatted for half an hour, and when they parted
Eoberts received a hearty invitation to look in at the
other's place at Kilburn.

" Both my boys are in the army," he said, " and likely
to get on well. My eldest girl is married, my youngest
is at home with her mother and myself; they will be
pleased to see you too. The missus enjoys a gossip about
India, and is always glad to welcome any old comrade
Of mine."

CHAPTER XXIII.

WALTER.

The wind was westerly, and the boat ran fast down
the river from Gravesend; Roberts and Andrew, both
in civilian clothes, were sitting in the bows, where there
were stowed a large hamper and a small traveling-bag
with some clothes. One waterman sat by the mast, in
case it should be necessary to lower sail; the other
was aft at the tiller. The men must have thought that
they had never had so silent and grave a pleasure party
before: two elderly gentlemen and two girls, none of
whom seemed inclined to make merry in any way. Colo-
nel Bulstrode, indeed, tried hard to keep up a conversa-
tion about the ships, barges, and other craft that they
met, or which lay at anchor in the stream, and recalling
reminiscences of trips on Indian rivers.

Netta was the only one of his hearers who apparently
took any interest in the talk. To her the scene was so
new that she regarded everything with attention and
pleasure, and looked with wonder at the great ships
which were dragged along by tiny tugs, wondered at the
rate at which the clumsy-looking barges made their way
through the water, and enjoj'ed the rapid and easy motion
with which their own boat glided along. Mr. Pettigrew
was revolving in his mind the problem of what should
next be done; while Hilda's thoughts were centered upon
Walter, and the joy that it would be to have him with
her again.

" This is Hole Haven," the boatman in the stern said,
as a wide sheet of water opened on their left.

"Why don't you turn in, then?" Colonel Bulstrode
asked.

" There is scarce water enough for us, sir; they are

288 THE LOST HEIR.

neap tides at present, and in half an hour the sands will
begin to show all over there. We have to go in onto
the farther side — that is, where the channel is. You
see those craft at anchor; there is the landing, just in
front of the low roof you see over the bank. That is the
* Lobster Smack/ and a very comfortable house it is;
and you can get as good a glass of beer there as any-
where on the river."

As they turned into the creek they saw two constables
on the top of the bank, and at the head of the steps stood
a gentleman talking with a coastguard officer.

" That is my friend, Mr. Bostock," Mr. Pettigrew
said. " He told me that, if he could manage it, he would
drive over himself with the two constables. I am glad
that he has been able to do so; his presence will
strengthen our hands."

A coast guard boat, with four sailors in it, was lying
close to the steps, and the officer came down with Mr.
Bostock, followed by the two constables. The magistrate
greeted Mr. Pettigrew and took his place in the boat
beside him, after being introduced to the two ladies and
the Colonel. The officer with the two constables stepped
into the coastguard boat, which rowed on ahead of the
other.

" I could not resist the temptation of coming over to
see the end of this singular affair, of which I heard from
Mr. Pettigrew," Mr. "Bostock said to Hilda. "The
officer of the coastguard is going on, partly to show us
the way to the house, and partly because it will be a
good opportunity for him to search the place thoroughly
for smuggled goods. He tells me that the barge is up
the creek now; it went up yesterday evening. So we may
find the fellow at home."

"Xow, my men," Colonel Bulstrode said to the boat-
men, " we have got to follow that boat. You will have
plenty of time for beer when you get there, and a good
lunch besides. So pull your hardest; we have not got
very far to go. Can either of you men row?"

"I can pull a bit," Eoberts said, and, aided by the

STRATE OF THE COUNTY OF ESSE

2*te Losi

WALTER. 289

sail and the three oars, the boat went along at a fair
rate through the water, the coastguard boat keeping a
short distance ahead of them. After a quarter of an
hour's rowing the bargeman's house came in view. The
revenue officer pointed to it.

" Now, row your hardest, men," Colonel Bulstrode
said; " we have but a hundred yards further to go."

The two boats rowed up to the bank together; Mr.
Bostock sprang out, as did the constables and sailors,
and ran up the bank, the others following at once. As
they appeared on the bank a boy working in the garden
gave a shrill whistle; a man immediately appeared at the
door and looked surprised at the appearance of the party.
He stepped back a foot, and then, as if changing his
mind, came out and closed the door after him.

"I am a magistrate of the County of Essex," Mr.
Bostock said, " and I have come to see a warrant exe-
cuted for the search of your house for a -child named
Walter Eivington, who is believed to be concealed here,
and who has been stolen from the care of his guardians."

" I know nothing of any child of that name," the
man replied, " but I have a child here that I am taking
care of for a gentleman in London; I have had him
here for just a year, and no one has made any inquiries
about him. You are welcome to enter and see if he is
the one you are in search of. If he is, all that I can say
is that I know nothing about his being stolen, and shall
be very sorry to lose him."

He stood aside, and the two constables entered, fol-
lowed closely by Hilda. The latter gave a cry of joy,
for seated on the ground, playing with a box of soldiers,
was Walter. She would hardly have known him any-
where else. His curls had been cut short, his face was
brown and tanned, and his clothes, although scrupulously
clean, were such as would be worn by any bargeman's
boy at that age. The child looked up as they entered.
Hilda ran to him, and caught him up in her arms.

" Don't you know me, Walter? Don't you iwnemW
Cousin Hilda? »

290 THE LOST HEIR.

" Yes> I remember you," the child said, now return-
ing her embrace. " You used to tell me stories and take
me out in a carriage for drives. Where have you been
so long? And where is grandpapa? Oh, here is Netta! "
and as Hilda put him down he ran to her, for during the
four months spent in the country she had been his chief
playmate.

" I have learned to swim, Netta. Uncle Bill has taught
me himself; and he is going to take me out in his barge
some day."

The woman, who had come in with her arms covered
with lather, from the little washhouse adjoining the
house, now came forward.

" I hope, miss, that there is nothing wrong," she said
to Hilda. " "We have done our best for the little boy,
and I have come to care for him just as if he had been my
own; and if you are going to take him away I shall miss
him dreadful, for he is a dear little fellow," and she burst
into tears.

Walter struggled from Netta's arms, and ran to the
woman, and, pulling her by the apron, said:

" Don't cry, Aunt Betsy; Jack is not going away from
you. Jack will stay here; he likes going in a barge better
than riding in a carriage."

^ Well, Miss Covington," Mr. Bostock said, " the recog-
nition appears to be complete on both sides; now what
is the next step? Do you give this man into custody
for unlawfully concealing this child and aiding and
abetting in his abduction?"

" Will you wait a minute while I speak to Mr. Petti-
grew?" she said; and they went out of the house
together.

" Well, what do you think, Mr. Pettigrew? "

"I have been thinking it over all the way as we cama
down," the lawyer said. " Of course, we have no shadow
of proof that this man was aware who the child was,
anc, in fact, if he had seen the placards offering alto-
gether fifteen hundred pounds for his recovery, we must
certainly assume that he would have given him up; for

WALTER. 291

ftowever well lie may have been paid for taking charge
of him, the offer would have been too tempting for a
man of that kind to have resisted. No doubt he had
strong suspicions, but you can hardly say that it
amounted to guilty knowledge that the child had been
abducted. If Walter had been ill-treated I should have
said at once, ' Give him into custody '; but this does not
seem to have been the case."

" No; they have evidently been very kind to him. I
am so grateful for that that I should be sorry to do the
man any harm."

" That is not the only point," the lawyer went on.
"It is evident that the other people very seldom come
down here, and from what you heard, in future Simcoe
is going to write. If we arrest this man the others will
know at once that the game is up. Now, if you will
take the child away quietly, we can tell the man that
he shall not be prosecuted, providing that he takes no
steps whatever to inform his employers that the child
is gone; even if one of them came down here to see the
child, the wife must say that he is away on the barge.
Anyhow, we shall have ample time to decide upon what
steps to take against Simcoe, and can lay hands upon him
whenever we choose; whereas, if he got an inkling that
we had discovered the child, he and his associate would
probably disappear at once, and we might have lots of
trouble to find them."

" Yes, I think that would be a very good plan, Mr.
Pettigrew. I will ask him and his wife to come out."

" That will be the best way, my dear. We could
hardly discuss the matter before Bostock."

Hilda went in. As soon as she spoke to the man and
his wife Mr. Bostock said, " If you want a conference,
Miss Covington, I will go out and leave you to talk
matters over."

He and the two constables withdrew, and Mr. Petti-
grew came in.

"Now, my man," he began, "you must see that you
have placed yourself in a very awkward position. You

29£ TEE LOST EEIB.

are found taking care of a child that has been stolen,
and for whose recovery large rewards have been offered
all over the country. It is like the case of a man found
hiding stolen goods. He would be called upon to ac-
count for their being in his possession. Now, it is hardly-
possible that you can have been ignorant that this
child was stolen. You may not have been told so in
words, but you cannot have helped having suspicions.
From what the child no doubt said when he first came
here, you must have been sure that he had been brought
up in luxury. No doubt he spoke of rides in a carriage,
of servants, his nurse, and so on. However, Miss Cov-
ington is one of the child's guardians, and I am the
other, and we are most reluctant to give you in charge.
It is evident, from the behavior of the child, and from
the affection that he shows to yourself and your wife,
that you have treated' him very kindly since he has been
here, and these toys I see about show that you have done
your best to make him happy."

"That we have, sir," the man said. "Betsy and I
took to him from the first. We have no children of our
own, none living at least, and we have made as much
of him as if he had been one of our own — perhaps more.
We have often talked it over, and both thought that
we were not doing the fair thing by him, and were, per-
haps, keeping him out of his own. I did not like having
anything to do with it at first, but I had had some
business with the man who gave him to me, and when
he asked me to undertake the job it did not seem to
me so serious an affair as it has done since, I am heartily
sorry that we have had any hand in it; not only because
we have done the child harm, but because it seems that
we are going to lose him now that we have come to care
for him as if he was our own."

" Of course you played only a minor part in the busi-
ness, Nibson. We quite understand that, and it is the
men who have carried out this abduction that we want
to catch. Do you know the name of the man who
brought the child to you?"

WALTER 293

■ I don't, sir. He knows where to find me, but I have
no more idea than a child unborn who he is or where he
lives. When he writes to me, which he generally does
before he comes down, which may be two or three times
a month, or may be once in six months, he signs himself
Smith. I don't suppose that is his right name, but I
say fairly that if I knew it, and where he lived, I would
not peach upon him. He has always been straight with
me in the business I have done with him, and I would
rather take six months for this affair than say anything
against him."

" We are not asking you at present to say anything
against him, and he is not the principal man in this
business. I believe he is only acting as agent for
another more dangerous rascal than himself. We are
not prepared at the present moment to arrest the chief
scoundrel. Before we do that we must obtain evidence
that will render his conviction a certainty. We have
reason to believe that this man that you know will not
come down for some time, and that you will receive the
money for the child's keep by post; but if we abstain
altogether from prosecuting you in this matter, you must
give us your word that you will not take any steps what-
ever to let them know that the child is no longer with
you. He says that you promised to take him out in
your barge. Well, if by any chance this man — not your
man, but the other — comes down here, and wants to see
the child, you or your wife will lead him to btiieve that
he is on board your barge. It will also be necessary that,
if we do arrest them, you should enter as a v. itness to
prove that the man handed the child over to you. You
could let it be seen that you are an unwilling witness,
but the evidence of the handing over of the child will be
an absolute necessity."

"All right, sir, I will undertake that. There is no
fear of my letting him know that the child has gone,
lor I don't know where to write him; and if he or
the other should come down, if I am here I shall have
*»o diffk>.«Hv i« keeping it from him that the child has

294 THE LOSr HEIR

gone, for my man has never set foot in this house. He
just meets me on the road near Pitsea, says what he has
to say, and gives me what he has to give me, and then
drives off again. .Of course, if I am summoned as a wit-
ness, I know that the law can make me go. I remember
now that when he gave me the child he said he was doing
it to oblige a friend of his, and he may be able to prove
that he had nothing to do with carrying it off."

" That is as it may be," the lawyer said dryly. " How-
ever, we are quite content with your promise."

" And I thank you most heartily, you and your wife,"
Hilda Covington said warmly, " for your kindness to the
child. It would have made me very happy all this time
if I could have known that he was in such good hands,
but I pictured him shut up in some vile den in London,
ill treated, and half starved. He has grown very much
since he has been with you, and looks a great deal more
boyish than he did."

" Yes, he plays a good deal with my barge boy, who
has taken to him just as we have."

" Well, your kindness will not be forgotten nor unre-
warded, Mr. Nibson."

" I'm sure we don't want any reward, miss; we have
been well paid. But even if we hadn't been paid at all
after the first month, we should have gone on keeping
him just the same."

" Now, Walter," Hilda said, " we want you to come
home with us; we have all been wanting you very badly.
Nurse and Tom Roberts have been in a terrible way,
and so has Dr. Leeds. You remember him, don't you?
He was very kind to you all the time that you were down
in the country."

The child nodded. " I should like to see Tom Eoberts
and nurse, but I don't want to go away. I am going out
in the barge soon."

"Well, dear, I dare say that we shall be able to ar-
range for you to come down sometimes, and to go out in
it, especially as you have learned to swim. We are going
away now in a bolt/'

WALTER. 295

"I often go out in the boat," Walter pouted. "I go
with Joshua; he is a nice boy, Joshua is, and I like
him."

" Well, dear, we will see what wc can do for Joshua,"

''You are sure that I shall come back and go out i:i
the barge?"

" Quite sure, dear; and perhaps I will go out with
you, too."

"Yes. you must go, like a good boy," Mrs. Nibson
said. "You know, dear, that I shall always love yon,
and shall be very, very glad if the ladies can spare you
to come down to see me sometimes. You won't forget
me, will you? "

" Xo, Aunt Betsy, I shall never forget you; I promise
you that," the child said. "And I don't want to >
away from you at all, only Cousin Hilda says I must."

Mr. Pettigrew went out to tell Mr. Bostock that they
should not give Nibson into custody.

" The principal scoundrels would take the alarm in-
stantly," he said, " and, above all things, we want to
keep them in the dark until we are ready to arrest them.
It will be much better that we should have this man lo
call as a witness than that he should appear in the dock
as an accomplice."

"I think that you are right there," the magistrate
agreed; " and really, he and his wife seem to have '
very kind to the child. I have been talking to this young
barge boy. It seems he is no relation of these pe<
His mother was a tramp, who died one winter's night on
the road to Pitsea. He was about ten or eleven years
old then, and they would have sent him to the work1;:
but Nibson, who was on the coroner's jury, volunt
to take him, and I dare say he finds him very useful on
board the barge. At any rate, he has been yell tre
and says that Nibson is the best master on the i
So the fellow must have some good in him, though, from
what the coastguard officer said, there are very strong
suspicions that he is mixed up in the smuggling busi
which, it seems, is still carried on in these marges'. Well,

296 THE LOST HEIR.

no doubt you have decided wisely; and now, I suppose,
we shall be off."

At this moment they were joined by the coastguard
officer.

" He has done us again," he said. " We have been
investigating these outhouses thoroughly, and there is
no question that he has had smuggled goods here. We
found a clever hiding-place in that cattle-shed. It
struck me that it was a curious thing that there should
be a stack of hay built up right against the side of it.
So we took down a plank or two, and I was not surprised
to find that there was a hollow in the stack. One of
the men stamped his foot, and the sound showed that
there was another hollow underneath. We dug up the
ground, and found, six inches below it, a trap-door, and
on lifting it discovered a hole five or six feet deep and six
feet square. It was lined with bricks, roughly cemented
together. It is lucky for him that the place is empty,
and I should think that after this he will go out of the
business for a time. Of course we cannot arrest a man
merely for having a hidden cellar; I fancy that there
are not many houses on the marshes that have not some
places of the sort. Indeed, I am rather glad that we did
not catch him, for in other respects Nibson is a decent,
hard-working fellow. Sometimes he has a glass or two
at the ' Lobster Smack,' but never takes too much, and
is always very quiet and decent in his talk. I doubt
whether the men would have found that hiding-place
if I had not been there; they all know him well, and
would not get him into a scrape if they could help it,
though there are some fellows on the marshes they would
give a month's pay to catch with kegs or tobacco."

The door of the house opened, and the three women
and Nibson came out with Walter, who was now
dressed in the clothes that they had brought down for
iiim.

While the others were getting ready to enter the boat
the officer took Nibson aside.

"'You have had a close squeak of it, Nibson; we found

WALTER. 397

your hiding-place under the stack, and it is lucky for
you that it was empty. So we have nothing to say to
you. I should advise you to give it up, my man; sooner
or later you are bound to be caught."

The man's brow had darkened as the officer began,
but it cleared up again.

" All right, he said; " I have been thinking for the
last half hour that I shall drop the business altogether,
but when a man once gets into it, it is not so easy to
get out. Now that you have found that cellar, it is a
good excuse to cut it. I can well say that. I dare not
risk it again, for that, after so nearly catching me, you
would be sure to keep an extra sharp eye on me in the
future."

" You give me your word for that, Mbson? "

"Yes, sir; I -wear off it altogether from the present
day."

" Good. I will take your word for it, and you can
go in and come out as you like without being watched,
and you need not fear that we shall pay you another
visit."

Walter went off in fair spirits. The promise that he
should come down again and see his friends and have a
sail in the barge lessened the pang of leaving, and as
Hilda's and Netta's faces came more strongly back to
him, as they talked to him and recalled pleasant things
that had almost faded from his memory, he went away
contentedly, while Betsy Nibson went back to the house
and had what she called " a good cry." She too, how-
ever, cheered up when her husband told her how narrow
an escape he had had, and how he had given his word
that he would drop smuggling altogether.

" That makes my mind easier than it has been for
years, Bill. And will you give up the other thing, too?
There may not be much harm in running kegs and
bacca, but there is no doubt about its being wrong to
have anything to do with stolen goods and to mix your-
self up with men who steal them."

" Yes, I will five that up, too, Betsy; and, as soon as I

298 THE LOST HEIR.

have time to look round, I will give an order for a new
barge to be buiit for me. I have been ashamed of the
old thing for a long time past with her patched sails.
Of course, she suited my purpose, for when the other
barges kept on tlr 'r course it gave me a good excuse
for anchoring; bu it aint pleasant to have every barge
ing you. There is old Joe Hargett; he said the other
day that, if I ever thought of getting a new barge, he
would give a hundred for her. He has got a set of
decent sails, and he is a pretty handy carpenter, and no
t he will make her look 'decent again. A hundred
ds amt much, but it will help. I can get a new
one complete, sails and all, for fourteen or fifteen hun-
dred, and have a hundred or two left in the bag after-
wards. I tell you what, Betsy, I will get an extra com-
fortable cabin made, and a place forward for Joshua. It
will be dull for you here now the child is gone, and it
would be a sight more comfortable for us both to be
together."

•■ That it will, Bill," she said joyfully. "I was always
very happy on board till we lost our Billy. I took a
e to it then, and was glad enough to come here;
but I have got over it now, and this place is very lonel;
during the long winter nights when you are away."

Then they talked over the barge, and how the cabin
should be fitted up, and, in spite of having lost Walter,
the evening was a pleasant one to them.

That was not the only conversation that took place
that day with reference to a new barge for Bill Kibson.
As they rowed up against the tide, Hilda said:

" We must do something for that bargeman, Colonel
Bulstrode. I am sure we cannot be too grateful to him
and his wife for their treatment of Walter. Think how
different it might have been had he fallen into bad
hands. Now he looks the picture of health; the change
in the life and the open air has done wonders. You
know, Dr. Leeds said that the officer of the coastguard
had told him that Xib?on's barge was one of the oldest
and rottenest crafts on the river. Now, I propose that

WALTER. 299

we buy him a new one. What would it cost, Colonel
Bulstrode?"

"I have not the slightest idea," the Colonel replied;
" it might cost five hundred pounds, or it might cost five
thousand, for all I know."

" I will ask the waterman/' Hilda said, and raising
her voice she said, "How much do barges cost when
they are new? "

"From ten or eleven hundred up to fifteen," the man
said.

"Does that include sails and all?"

" Yes, miss; down to the boat."

" Who is considered the best barge-builder? "

"Well, there are a good many of them, miss; but I
should say that Gill, of Rochester, is considered as good
as any."

"What do you think, Mr. Pettigrew?" Hilda said.
" Should we, as Walter's guardians, be justified in spend-
ing this money? Mind, I don't care a bit whether we
are or not, because I would buy it myself if it would not
be right for us to use his money."

" I am afraid that it would not be right," Mr. Pettigrew
Eaid. " As a trustee of the property, I should certainly
not feel myself justified in sanctioning such a sum being
drawn, though I quite admit that this good couple should
be rewarded. I cannot regard a barge as a necessary;
anything in reason that the child could require we
should be justified in agreeing to. Of course, whatever
may be his expenses at a public school, we should pay
them without hesitation; but for a child of that age to
give a present of fifteen hundred pounds would be alto-
gether beyond our power to sanction."

" Very well," Hilda said decidedly, " then I shall take
the matter into my own hands, and I shall go down to
Rochester to-morrow and see if these people have a barge
ready built. I don't know whether they are the sort of
things people keep in stock."

" That I can't say, my dear. I should think it proba-
ble that in slack times they may build a barge or two on

800 TEE LOST HEIR.

speculation, for the purpose of keeping their hands em-
ployed, but whether that is the case now or not I don't
know. If these people at Rochester have not got one
you may hear of one somewhere else. I want you all to
come up to the office one day next week to talk over
this matter of the order Simcoe is- applying for — for us
to carry out the provisions of the will — at any rate, as
far as his legacy is concerned."

" Very well, Mr. Pettigrew, I will come up any time
that you write to me, but you know that I have very
strong opinions about it."

" I know your opinions are strong, as ladies' opinions
generally are," Mr. Pettigrew said with a smile; "but,
unfortunately, they are much more influenced by their
own view of matters than by the legal bearing of them.
However, we will talk that over when we meet again."

The arrival of Walter occasioned the most lively joy
in Hyde Park Gardens. Hilda had written to his nurse,
who had gone home to live with her mother when all
hope of finding Walter had seemed to be at an end, to
tell her that he would probably be at home on Wednes-
day evening, and that she was to be there to meet him.
Her greeting of him was rapturous. It had been a
source of bitter grief to her that he had been lost through
a momentary act of carelessness on her part, and the re-
lief that Hilda's letter had caused was great indeed. The
child was scarcely less pleased to see her, for he retained
a much more vivid recollection of her than he did of
the others. He had already been told of his grand-
father's death, but a year had so effaced his memory of
him that he was not greatly affected at the news. In the
course of a few hours he was almost as much at home in
the house as if he had never left it.

CHAPTER XXIV.

A NEW BARGE.

The next morning Hilda went down to Rochester with
Netta, Tom Roberts accompanying them. They had no
difficulty in discovering the barge-builder's. It seemed
to the girls a dirty-looking place, thickly littered as it
was with shavings; men were at work on two or three
targes which seemed, thus seen out of the water, an
enormous size.

" Which is Mr. Gill ? " Hilda asked a man passing.

" That is him, miss," and he pointed to a man who
was in the act of giving directions to some workmen.
They waited until he had finished, and then went up to
him.

" I want to buy a barge, Mr. Gill," Hilda said.

" To buy a barge! "he repeated in surprise, for never
before had he had a young lady as a customer.

Hilda* nodded. " I want to give it to a bargeman who
has rendered me a great service," as if it were an every-
day occurrence for a young lady to buy a barge as a
present. " I want it at once, please; and it is to be a
first-class barge. How much would it cost? "

The builder rubbed his chin. " Well, miss, it is a
little unusual to sell a barge right off in this way; as
a rule people want barges built for them. Some want
them for speed, some want them for thei* carrying
capacity."

" I want a first-class barge," Hilda replied. " I sup-
pose it will be for traffic on the Thames, and that he
will like it to be fast."

'' Well, miss," the builder said slowly, for he could
not vet quite persuade himself that, this young lady was

301

302 THE LOST HEIR.

really prepared to pay such a sum as a new barge would
cost, " I have got such a barge. She was launched last
week, but I had a dispute with the man for whom I
built her, and I said that I would not hold him to his
bargain, and that he could get a barge elsewhere. He
went off in a huff, but I expect he will come back before
long and ask me to let him have her, and I should not be
altogether sorry to say that she is gone. She is a first-
class barge, and I expect that she will be as fast as
anything on the river. Of course, I have got everything
ready for her — masts, sails, and gear, even down to her
dingey — and in twenty-four hours she would be ready
to sail. The price is fifteen hundred pounds," and he
looked sharply at Hilda to see what effect that com-
munication would have. To his great surprise she replied
quietly:

" That is about the sum I expected, Mr. Gill. Can
we look at her? "

" Certainly, miss; she is lying alongside, and it is
nearly high tide."

He led the way over piles of balks of timber, across
sloppy pieces of ground, over which at high tide water
extended, to the edge of the wharf, where the barge
-floated. She was indeed all ready for her mast; her
sides shone with fresh paint, her upper works were
painted an emerald green, a color greatly in favor
among bargemen, and there was a patch of the same on
her bow, ready for the name, surrounded by gilt scroll-
work.

" There she is, miss; as handsome a barge as there is
afloat."

" I want to see the cabin. What a little place! " she
went on, as she and Netta went down through a narrow
hatchway, " and how low! "

" It is the usual height in barges, miss, and the same
size, unless especially ordered otherwise."

" I should like the cabin to be made very comfortable,
for I think the boatman will have his wife on board.
Could it not be made a little larger? "

A NEW BARGE. 303

"There would be no great difficulty about that. You
See, this is a water-tight compartment, but of course it
could be carried six feet farther forward and a perma-
nent hatchway be fixed over it, and the lining made
good in the new part. As to height, one might put in
a good-sized skylight; it would not be usual, but of course
it could be done."

'• And you could put the bed-place across there, could
you not, and put a curtain to draw across it?"

" Yes, that could be managed easy enough, miss; and
it would make a very tidy cabin."

" Then how much would that cost extra ? "

" Forty or fifty pounds, at the outside."

" And when could you get it all finished, and every-
thing painted a nice color? "•

" I could get it done in a week or ten days, if you
made a point of it."

" I do make a point of it," Hilda said.

" What do you say to our leaving this bulkhead up*
as it is, miss, and making a door through it, and putting
a small skylight, say three feet square, over the new
part? You see, it will be fifteen feet wide by six feet,
so that it will make a tidy little place. It would not
cost more than the other way, not so much perhaps;
for it would be a lot of trouble to get this bulkhead down,
and then, you see, the second hand could have his bunk
in here, on the lockers, and be quite separate."

"Isn't there a cabin at the other end?"

" "Well, there is one, miss; you can come and look at it.
That is where the second hand always sleeps when the
bargeman has got his wife on board."

"I think that it would be better to have the second
hand sleep there," Hilda said. " This is very rough,"
she went on, when she inspected the little cabin forward;
"there are ail the beams sticking out. Surely it can be
made more comfortable than this."

" We could matchboard the timbers over if you like,
but it is not usual."

" Never mind, please do it; and put some lockers up

304 THE LOST HEIR.

for his clothes, and make it very comfortable. Has the
barge got a name yet?"

"Well, miss, we have always called her the Medway;
but there is no reason that you should stick to that name.
She has not been registered yet, so we can call her any
name you like."

" Then we will call her the Walter" Hilda said, for the
girls had already settled this point between them.

" And now, Mr. Gill, I suppose there is nothing to do
but to give you a check for fifteen hundred pounds, and
I can pay for the alterations when I come down next
Monday week. Can you get me a couple of men who
understand the work — bargees, don't you call them? I
want them to take her as far as Hole Haven and a short
way up the creek."

" I can do that easily enough," the builder said; " and
I promise you that everything shall be ready for sailing,
though I don't guarantee that the paint in the new part
of the cabin will be dry. All the rest I can promise. I
will set a strong gang of men on at once."

A few days later Hilda wrote a line to William Nibson,
saying that she intended to come down with the child
on the following Monday, and hoped that he would be
able to make it convenient to be at home on that day.

" She is riot long in coming down again, Betsy," he
said, when on the Friday the barge went up to Pitsea
again, and he received the letter, which was carried
home and read by his wife, he himself being, like most
of his class at the time, unable to read or write. "I
suppose the child pined in his new home, and she
had to pacify him by saying that he should come down
and see us next week. That will suit me very well. I
have a load of manure waiting for me at Rotherhithe;
it is for Farmer Gilston, near Pitsea, so that I shall just
manage it comfortably. Next week I will go over to
Rochester and see if I can hear of a good barge for
sale."

On the following Monday morning the girls again
went clown to Rochester, this time taking Walter with

A NEW BARGE. 305

them; having the previous week sent off three or four
great parcels by luggage train. Roberts went to look
for a cart to bring them to the barge-builder's, and the
girls went on alone.

" There she lies, miss," Mr. Gill said, pointing to a
barge with new tanned sails tying out in the stream;
" she is a boat any man might be proud of."

" She looks very nice indeed," Hilda said, " though,
of course, I am no judge of such things."

" You may be sure that she is all right, Miss Cov-
ington."

"Is the paint dry, down below?"

" Yes. I saw that you were anxious about it, so put
plenty of drier in. So that, though she was only painted
on Saturday morning, she is perfectly dry now. But you
are rather earlier than I had expected."

" Yes; we have sent a lot* of things down by rail. Our
man is getting a cart, and I dare say they will be here
in a quarter of an hour."

The things were brought on a large hand-car^, and as
soon as these were carried down to the boat they went off
with Mr. Gill to the barge.

" There, miss," he said, as he led the way down into
the cabin; " there is not a barge afloat with such a com-
fortable cabin as this. I put up two or three more cup-
boards, for as they will sleep in the next room there is
plenty of space for them."

Except in point of height, the cabin was as comforta-
ble a little room as could be desired. It was painted a
light slate color, with the panels of the closets of a
lighter shade of the same. The inner cabin was of the
same color. A broad wooden bedstead extended across
one end, and at the other were two long cupboards ex-
tending from the ceiling to the floor. The skylight
afforded plenty of light to this room, while the large one
in the main cabin gave standing height six feet square
in the middle.

" It could not have been better," Hilda said, greatly
pleased

306 TEE LOST EEIR.

" Well, miss, I took upon myself to do several things
in the way of cupboards, and so on, that you had not
ordered, but seeing that you wanted to have things com-
fortable I took upon myself to do them/'

"You did quite right, Mr. Gill. This big skylight
makes all the difference in height. I see that you have
painted the name, and that you have got a flag flying
from the masthead/'

" Yes; bargemen generally like a bit of a flag, that is
to say if they take any pride in their boat. You cannot
trade in the barge until you have had it registered; shall
I get that done for you? "

" Yes, I should be very much obliged if you would."
"And in whose name shall I register it? In
yours ? "

"No; in the name of William Nibson. If you want
his address it is Creek Farm, Pitsea."

" Well, miss, he is a lucky fellow. I will get it done,
and he can call here for the register the first time he
comes up the Medway."

Eoberts was sent ashore again for a number of hooks,
ecrews, and a few tools.

" Now, Mr. Gill, we are quite ready to start. We shall
get things straight on the voyage/'

" You will have plenty of time, miss; she will anchor
off Grain Spit till the tide begins to run up hard. You
won't be able to get up the creek till an hour before
high tide."

. " That won't matter," Hilda said; " it will not be dark
till nine."

"You can get up the anchor now," the builder said to
two men who had been sitting smoking in the bow.

The barge's boat was lying bottom upwards on the
hatches and another boat lay behind her.

"This boat does not belong to her, Mr. Gill; does
she?" Hilda asked.

" No, miss; that is the men's boat. When they have
got the barge to where she is to be moored, they will
row down to Hole Haven, and get a tow up with the

A NEW BARGE. 307

first barge that comes down after the tide has turned.
How will you be coming back, Miss Covington?"

" We have arranged for a gig to be at Hole Haven at
eight o'clock to drive us to Brentwood, where we shall
take train to town. We shall not be up before half-past
eleven, but as we have our man with us that does not
matter; besides, the carriage is to be at the station to
meet the train."

The girls and Walter watched the operation of getting
up the anchor and of setting the foresail and jib. They
remained on deck while the barge beat down the long
reach past the dockj^ards, and then with slackened sheet8
rounded the wooded curve down into Gillingham Reach,
then, accompanied by Eoberts, they wept below. Here
they were soon hard at work. The greal were

opened, and mattresses and bedclothes brought out.

" This reminds one of our work when you first came
to us," Netta laughed, as they made the bed.

" Yes, it is like old times, certainly. We used to like
to work then, because we were doing it together; we like
it still more to-day, because not only are we together,
but we are looking forward to the delight that we are
going to give."

Carpets were laid down, curtains hung to the bed,
and a wash-hand stand fixed in its place. A hamper
of crockery was unpacked and the contents placed on
the shelves that had been made for them, and cooking
utensils arranged on the stove, which had been obtained
for them by the builder. By this time Eoberts had
screwed up the hooks in the long cupboards, and in every
spot round both cabins where they could be made availa-
ble. Then numerous japanned tin boxes, filled with tea,
sugar, and other groceries, were stowed away, and a
large one with a label, " Tobacco," placed on a shelf for
Bill Nibson's special delectation. Curtains that could
be drawn were fixed to the skylights, looking-glasses
fastened against the walls, and by the time that the
barge neared Sheerness their labors were finished. Then
the forward cabin was similarly made comfortable.

308 THE LOST HEIR.

Walter had assisted to the best of his power in all the
arrangements, and when he became tired was allowed
to go up on deck, on his promise to remain quiet by the
side of the helmsman.

" Now I think that everything is in its place," Hilda
said at last, " and really they make two very pretty little
rooms. I can't say that the one in the bow is pretty,
but at any rate it is thoroughly comfortable, and I have
no doubt that Joshua will be as pleased with it as the
Nibsons are with theirs. Oh, dear, how dusty one gets!
and we never thought of getting water on board for the
jugs."

On going up on deck, however, they observed two bar-
rels lashed together.

" Are those water? " Hilda asked the man at the tiller.

" Yes, ma'am."

" How do you get it out? I don't see a tap."

" You put that little xiwnp lying by the side into the
bunghole. I will do it W vou. miss."

" Now we will go downstairs and tidy up, and then
come and sit up here and enjoy ourselves," said Hilda. _

When they were below they heard a rattle of the chain,
and, on going up, found that the barge had come to
anchor in the midst of some thirty or forty others. The
foresail had been run down and the jib lowered, but the
great mainsail, with its huge, brightly painted sprit, was
still standing. Roberts now opened a hamper that had
been left on deck, and produced luncheon. Cold meat
and beer were handed to the two watermen, who went
up into the bow to eat it. An hour later the tide began
to slacken, and many of the barges got up sail.

"Shall we get up the anchor, ma'am?" one of the
watermen asked. ,

" There's plenty of time, is there not?'' Hilda asked.

" Yes, ma'am, but we thought that you would like to
see how she goes with the others."

".¥«, I should like that," Hilda said, and in a few
minutes the barge was under sail again.

"She is a clipper, and no mistake/' the man at the

A NEW BARGE. 309

tiller said, as one by one they passed the barges that had
started ahead of them, and Walter clapped his hands in
delight.

" We may as well go down to the lower end of the
Hope, miss. We shall have plenty of time to get back
again before there is water enough for us in the creek."

For three hours they sailed about, the girls enjoying
it as much as Walter.

" I do think, Netta, that I shall have to buy a barge
on my own account. It is splendid, and, after all, the
cabins are large enough for anything."

" You had better have a yacht," Netta laughed. " You
would soon get tired of always going up and down the
river."

" One might do worse," Hilda said. " Of course, now
we shall give up that big house in Hyde Park Gardens,
which is ridiculous for me and the boy. We have each
got a country house, and when we want a thorough
change I would infinitely rather have a yacht than a
small house in town. I don't suppose that it would cost
very much more. Besides, you know, it is arranged that
I am always to have rooms at your house at the institute.
That is to be the next thing seen after; you know that
is quite agreed upon."

"I shall be glad to be at work again," Netta said.
"Now that Walter is found, there is certainly nothing
to keep us any longer in town." i

" I know that it must have been horribly dull for you,
Netta, but you see that you are partly to blame yourself
for refusing to go out with me."

"That would have been duller still," Netta laughed.
"I should have been a long time before I got to know;
people, and there is no good ir» knowing people when,
you are going right away from them in a short time, and
may never meci them again."

At last the men said that there would be water
enough to get up the creek.

" We shan't be able to sail up, miss; you see, the wind!
Will be right in our teeth. But that don't matter; we

31<- THE LOST HEIR

can pole her up. The tide will take us along, and we
shall only have to keep her straight and get her round
the corners."

"Are you sure that there will be water enough?"
" Yes, miss. You see, she is empty, and doesn't draw
much more than a foot of water."

As they entered the haven the head sails were dropped
and the mainsail brailed up. The tide was running in
strong, and, as the men had said, they had nothing to do
but to keep the barge in the deepest part of the channel.

" How do you think they will be coming, Bill?" Betsy
Nibson said, as she joined her husband, who was stand-
ing on the bank dressed in his Sunday clothes.

"I cannot say, Betsy; if I had known I should have
gone to meet them. They cannot drive here from Pitsea,
but must walk; and, of course, I would have been there
if I had been sure of their coming that way. But I
should think most likely that they will drive to the haven
and come up by boat."

" There is a new barge coming up the creek," Joshua
said. "You can see that she is new by her spars and
sails."

" That's so, boy," Bill agreed. " She has got a flag
I haven't seen before at her masthead. . It is white, and
I think there are some red letters on it — her name, I
suppose. 'Tis not often that a new barge comes up to
Pitsea. She is a fine-looking craft," he went on, as a
turning in the creek brought her wholly into view. " A
first-class barge, I should say. Yes, there is no doubt
about her being new. I should say, from the look of her
spars, she cannot have made many trips up and down the
river."

"She has got a party on board," Mrs. Nibson said
presently. " There are two women and a child. Perhaps
it's them, Bill. They may have some friend in the barge
line, and he has offer d to bring them down, seeing that
this is a difficult place to get at."

"T believe jou are right, Betsy. They are too far

A NEW BARGE. 311

off to see their faces, but they are certainly not barge
people."

"They are waving their handkerchiefs!" Betsy ex-
claimed; " it is them, sure enough. Well, we have won-
dered how they would come down, but we never thought
of a barge." •

The three hurried along the bank to meet the barge.
Walter danced and waved his hat and shouted loudly to
them as they approached.

" You did not expect to see us arrive in a barge, Mrs.
Nibson," Hilda called out as they came abreast of them.

" No, indeed, miss; we talked it over together as to
how you would come, but we never thought of a barge."

" It belongs to a friend of ours, and we thought that
it would be a pleasant way of coming. She is a new boat.
You must come on board and have a look at her before
we land."

In a few minutes the barge was alongside the bank,
opposite the house. A plank was run across and Walter
scampered over it to his friends.

"Bless his little face!" Mrs. Nibson said, as she lifted
him up to kiss her. " What a darling he looks, Bill! And
he has not forgotten us a bit."

" He could not well forget in a week," Bill said, rather
gruffly, for he, too, was moved by the warmth of the
child's welcome. " Well, let us go on board and pay our
respects. She is a fine barge, surely; and she has got
the same name as the child."

" Why, it is not ' Jack,' " his wife said, looking up.

" Jack! " her husband repeated scornfully. " Didn't
they call him Walter the other day? Go on, wife; the
lady is waiting at the end of the plank for you."

Mrs. Nibson put the child down and followed him
across the plank, smoothing her apron as she went.

"My best respects, miss," she said, as Hilda shook
hands with her warmly.

" We are glad to see you again, Mrs. Nibson, and hope
that you have not missed Walter very much."

" I cannot say that I have not missed him a good deal,

312 THE LOST HEIR.

miss, but, luckily, we have had other things to think
about. We are giving up the farm; it is lonesome here
in the winter, and I am going to take to barge life
again."

" Well, what do you think of this barge, Mr. Nibson? "
Hilda asked.

" I allow she is a handsome craft, and she ought to
be fast/'

" She is fast. We have been sailing about until there
was enough water in the creek, and we have passed every
barge that we have come near. She is comfortable, too.
Come below and look at her cabin."

" Well, I never! " Mrs. Nibson said, pausing in
astonishment at the foot of the ladder. " I have been
in many barge cabins, but never saw one like this." Her
surprise increased when the door of the bulkhead was
opened and she saw the sleeping cabin beyond. " Did
you ever, Bill?"

" No, I never saw two cabins in a barge before," her
husband said. "I suppose, miss, the owner must have
had the cabin speciajjjir done up for his own use some-
times, and the crew nved forward."

" There is a place forward for the second hand," she
replied, " and I suppose the owner will sleep here."

" Of course it is a loss of space, but she will carry a
big load, too. Who is the owner, miss, if I may make so
bold as to ask? "

" The registered owner is William Gibson," Hilda said
quietly.

The bargeman and his wife gazed at each other in
astonishment.

" But," he said hesitatingly, " I have never heard of
any owner of that name."

" Except yourself, Nibson."

" Yes, except myself; but I am not an owner, as I have
sold the Mary Ann."

" There is no other owner now," she said, " that I
know of, of that name. The barge is yours. It is
bought as testimony of our gratitude for the kindness

A NEW BARGE. 313

-fciiat you have shown Walter, and you see it is named
ifter him."

" It is too much, miss," said Bill huskily, while his
wife burst into tears. " It is too much altogether. We
only did our duty to the child, and we were well paid
for it."

" You did more than your duty," Hilda said. " The
money might pay for food and shelter and clothes, but
money cannot buy love, and that is what you gave, both
of you; and it is for that that we now pay as well as
we can."

" Miss Covington should say ' 1/ " Netta broke in, " for
it is her present entirely. Walter's trustees could not
touch his money for the purpose, and so she has done it
herself."

"Hush, Netta! You should have said nothing about
it," Hilda said; and then, turning to Nibson, went on,
UI am his nearest relative — his only relative, in fact —
besides being his guardian, and, therefore, naturally I
am the most interested in his happiness; and as, fortu-
nately, I am myself very well off, I can well afford the
pleasure of helping those who have been so good to him.
rlease do not say anything more about it. Now we will
go on deck for a few minutes, and leave you and your
wife to look round. We will show Joshua his cabin."

So saying, she and Netta went on deck. Joshua, led
by Walter, was just crossing the plank. He had not re-
ceived a special invitation, and he felt too shy to go on
board with these ladies present. Walter, however, had
tun across to him, and at last persuaded him to come.

" Well, Joshua," Hilda said, as she reached him, " what
3o you think of the barge?"

" She is as good a one as ever I seed," the boy said.

" Well, Joshua, she belongs to Mr. Mbson."

" To Bill ? " Joshua exclaimed. " You don't mean it,
<ttiss."

"I do mean it," she said; "this is his barge."

"Well, I shouldn't have thought that Bill was that
tltf ull " -Toshua exclaimed almost indignantly. " Fancy

3l4 TEE LOST HEIR.

his keeping it from the missis and me that he had been
and bought a new barge! But she is a fine one, there
aint no doubt about that/'

"Come forward and look at your cabin, Joshua.
I think you will say that it is more comfortable than
usual."

" Well, I am blowed! " the boy ejaculated, as he fol-
lowed her down the ladder and looked round. "Why,
it is a palace, that is wot it is; it is more comfortable
than the master's cabin aft in most barges. And what
a bed! Why, it is soft enough for a hemperor."

"There are no sheets, Joshua. They told me that
the men never use sheets in barges."

"Lor' bless you! no, ma'am. We mostly stretch our-
selves on the locker and roll ourselves up in a blanket,
if we are lucky enough to have one. Why, I don't know
as I shan't be afraid of getting into that bed, though
I does take a header in the water every morning. There
are lockers on both sides, too, and a basin. Who ever
heard of such a thing as a basin? Why, miss, we alius
washes in the pail on deck."

" Well, I should think that it would be a good deal
more comfortable to wash down here in a basin on a
cold morning."

"Well, I suppose it might, miss; it be sharp some-
times outside. Why, there is oilcloth all over the floor,
and a mat to wipe one's feet at the bottom of the ladder,
and a rug by the side of the bed! I never did see such
things. Bill must have gone clean off his chump. Well,
I am blessed! "

" It is Miss Covington who has given Bill the barge
and seen to its being fitted up," Netta said, "and she
has done her best to make your cabin as comfortable as
possible, because you have been so kind to Walter."

" And I hope to do some more for you, Joshua, when
I can see my way to do it. You will find two or three
suits of clothes for your work in those lockers. I do
not know that they will quite fit, but I dare say if they
don't Mrs. Nibson can alter them for you, and vou will

A NEW BARGE. 315

find shnTs and warm underclothing, and so on, in that
cupboard."

Joshua sat down suddenly on a locker, completely over-
powered with what seemed to him the immensity of his
possessions.

There the girls left him, and they went up on deck
again.

Going aft, they sat down and talked for a few minutes,
and were then joined by Nibson and his wife. The latter
still bore traces of tears on her cheeks, and there was a
suspicious redness about Bill's eyes.

" We won't try to say what we would like to say," the
man began, " 'cause we could not say it, but we feels it
just the same. Here we are with everything man or
woman could wish for, ready to hand."

" As I have said before, Nibson, please do not say any-
thing more about it. It has made me quite as happy
to get this barge for you, and to make it comfortable,
as it can do you both to receive it. And now we will
go ashore."

In the house they found that tea was ready, save pour-
ing the water into "the pot. A ham and a couple of cold
chickens were on the table, and jam and honey were
specially provided for Walter. Joshua did not make one
of the party. After recovering from the contemplation
of his own cabin he had gone aft and remained in almost
awe-struck admiration at the comfort and conveniences
there, until summoned by Bill to take his place and help
to get the new boat into the water, and to row the ladies
down to Hole Haven.

CHAPTER XXV.

A CRUSHING EXPOSURE.

The c^se of the application by John Simcoe for ail
order for the trustees of the will of the late General
Mathieson to carry its provisions into effect was on the
list of cases for the day. Tom Roberts was walking up
and down in Westminster Hall, waiting for it to come
on, when he saw a face he knew.

"Hullo, Sergeant Nichol, what brings you here?"

"Just curiosity, Roberts. I happened to see in the
list of cases one of Simcoe against the trustees of Gen-
eral Mathieson. 'What/ I said to himself, 'Simcoe?
That is the name of the chap who saved General Mathie-
.son's life.' I remember their being both brought into
cantonment, as well as if it were yesterday. I was with
Paymaster-Sergeant Sanderson, the fellow who bolted a
short time afterwards with three hundred pounds from
the pay-chest and never was heard of afterwards. We
heard that Simcoe was drowned at sea; and sorry we all
were, for a braver fellow never stepped in shoe leather,
and there was not a man there who did not feel that he
owed him a debt of gratitude for saving the brigadier's
life. So when I saw the paper I said to myself, ' Either
the man was not drowned at all, or he must be some re-
lation of his. I will go into court and have a look at
him.' "

" It is the same man, but I am sorry to say that,
though he may be as brave as a lion, he is a rogue. But
you can see him without going into court. That is him,
talking with the man in a wig and gown and that little
man in black, who is, I suppose, his lawyer. He knows
me, so I won't go near him; but you can walk as close as
you like to him, and take a good look at him."

316

A CRUSHING EXPOSURE. 317

iTot content with looking once, Sergeant Nichol passed
him backwards and forwards three times. When he re-
joined Eoberts the latter saw that he looked flushed and
excited.

"What is it, sergeant?"

" I don't believe it is Simcoe at all," the sergeant said.
" It is that man Sanderson I was speaking about just
now. Several of us noticed how like he was to Simcoe,
but the expression of their faces was different. Simcoe
was five or six years younger, and had a pleasant ex-
pression; Sanderson had a hard face. None of us liked
him, he was a man one could never get friendly with;
you might be in the same mess for years and not know
more about him at the end than you did at the beginning.
Of course, they would both be changed a good deal by
this time, but I don't believe that Simcoe would have
grown so as to be like this man; and I am sure that
Sanderson would. He had a mark on him that I should
know him by. One day when he was a recruit his musket
went off, and the ball went through his left forearm.
It was only a flesh wound, but it left a blackened scar,
and I will bet all that I am worth that if you turned up
that fellow's sleeve you would find it there*."

" That is very important, sergeant, I will go and tell
my young lady; she is talking with her lawyers and
Colonel Bulstrode at the other end of the hall."'

Hilda clapped her hands.-

" What do you say now, Mr. Pettigrew? I was right,
after all. Bring your friend up, Eoberts, and let us hear
his story ourselves."

Sergeant Nichol was fetched, and repeated the story
that he had told to Eoberts.

" Thank you very much, sergeant," the barrister said.
" Please remain here while we talk it over. What do
you think of this, Mr. Pettigrew?"

" It would seem to explain the whole matter that has
puzzled us so. I did not tell you, because it was not in
my opinion at all necessary to the case, that Miss Cov-
ington has always maintained that the man was not

31& THE LOST HEIR,

Simcoe, and so positive was she that her friend, Miss
Purcell, went down to Stowmarket to make inquiries.
It was certainly believed by his friends there that he
was Simcoe, and this to my mind was quite conclusive.
But I am bound to say that it did not satisfy Miss
Covington."

" May I ask, Miss Covington, why you took up that
opinion in the first place?"

" Because I was convinced that he was not the sort of
man who would have risked his life for another. After
Miss Pureell came back from Stowmarket we found out
that just before he called on my uncle he advertised for
relatives of the late John Simcoe, and that the advertise-
ment appeared not in the Suffolk papers only, but in
the London and provincial papers all over the country;
and it was evident, if this man was John Simcoe, he
would not advertise all over England, instead of going
down to Stowmarket, where his family lived, and where
he himself had lived for years. He received a reply
from an eld lady, an aunt of John Simcoe's, living there,
went down and saluted her as his aunt, at once offered
to settle a pension of fifty pounds a year on her, and
after remaining for three days in her house, no doubt
listening to her gossip about all John Simcoe's friends,
went and introduced himself to them. There was prob-
ably some resemblance in height and figure, and an
absence of twenty years would have effected a change
in his face, so that, when it was found that his aunt un-
hesitatingly accepted him, the people there had no doubt
whatever that it was their old acquaintance. Therefore,
this in no way shook my belief that he was not the man.

" It turns out now, you see, that there was another
man at Benares at the time who was remarkably like
him, and that this man was a scoundrel and a thief.
When he deserted no doubt he would take another name,
and having doubtless heard that John Simcoe was dead,
and remembering the remarks made as to his likeness
to him, he was as likely to take that name as any other,
though probably not with any idea of making any special

A CRUSHING EXPOSURE. 319

use .x it. When in England he may have heard General
Mathieson's name mentioned, and remembering that
Simcoe had saved the life of the General, may have
thought that the name and the likeness might enable
him to personate the man. He first set about establish-
ing his identity by going down to Stowmarket, and
after that it was easy. I have thought it all over so
many times that although it never struck me that there
might have been at Benares some man bearing a striking
resemblance to John Simcoe, all the rest is exactly as I
had figured it out to my mind. Now I will leave you,
gentlemen, to decide what use you will make of the dis-
covery, while I go and tell my friends of it."

The seats allotted to the general public were empty,
as a case of this sort offered but slight attraction even
to the loungers in the hall, but a large number of
barristers were present. It had been whispered about
that there were likely to be some unexpected develop-
ments in the case. The counsel engaged on both sides
were the leaders of the profession, who could hardly
have been expected to be retained in a mere case of a
formal application for an order for trustees to act upon
a will.

'•' The facts of the case, my lord," the counsel who
led for John Simcoe commenced, "are simple, and we
are at a loss to understand how the trustees of the late
General Mathieson can offer any opposition to our ob-
taining the order asked for. Nothing can be more
straightforward than the facts. The late General
Mathieson, early in March, 1852, made a will, which was
duly signed and witnessed, bequeathing, among other
legacies, the amount of ten thousand pounds to Mr. John
Simcoe, as a mark of his gratitude for his having saved
him from a tiger some twenty years before in India. The
act was one of heroic bravery, and Mr. Simcoe nearly
lost his own life in saving that of the General"

He then related with dramatic power the incidents
of the struggle.

* There is, then, no matter of surprise that this large

320 THE LOST HEIR.

legacy should have been left to Mr. Sinicoe by the Gen-
eral, who was a man of considerable wealth. The bulk
of the property was left to his grandson, and in the
event of his dying before coming of age it was to go to
a niece, a Miss Covington, to whom only a small legacy
was left; she being herself mistress of an estate and well
provided for. Two months afterwards the General, upon
reflection, decided to enlarge his gift to Mr. Simcoe, and
he, therefore, in another will named him, in place of
Miss Covington, who was amply provided for, his heir
in the event of his grandson's death. I may say that
the second will was not drawn up by the solicitors who
had framed the first will. Probably, as often happens,
the General preferred that the change he had effected
should not be known until after his death, even to his
family solicitors. He, therefore, went to a firm of equal
respectability and standing, Messrs. Halstead & James,
who have made an affidavit that he interviewed them
personally on the matter, and gave them written in-
structions for drawing up his will, and signed it in their
presence.

" I may say that in all other respects, including the
legacy of ten thousand pounds, the wills were absolutely
identical. The trustees, after waiting until the last day
permitted by law, have, to our client's surprise, proved
the first of these two wills, ignoring the second; on what
ground I am at a loss to understand. As my client is
entitled to ten thousand pounds under either will it
might be thought that the change would make little
difference to him; but unhappily the circumstances have
entirely changed by the fact that the General's grand-
son was lost or stolen on the day before his death, and
in spite of the most active efforts of the police, and the
offer of large rewards — my client, who was deeply
affected by the loss of the child, himself offering a thou-
sand pounds for news of his whereabouts — nothing was
heard of him until two months after his disappearance,
when his body was found in the canal at Paddington,
and after hearing evidence of identification, and examin-

A CRUSHING EXPOSURE. 321

ing the clothes, which all parties agreed to be those of
the missing child, the jury returned a verdict that the
body was that of Walter Kivington, and that there was
no proof of how he came by his end.

" As the residence of General Mathieson was in Hvde
Park Gardens, no doubt the poor child strolled away
from the care of a careless nurse, came to the canal, ami
walking near the bank, fell in and was drowned No
one could have been more grieved than my client at this
and although it practically put him into possession of a
large property, he would, I am sure, gladly forfeit a laro-e
portion of it rather than come into possession of it in
so melancholy a manner. I have not heard of the slight-
est reason why the last will of General Mathieson should
be put aside. I believe that no question could arise
as to his state of mind at the time that it was made. It
may be that a plea of undue influence may be raised,
but this, to those who knew the General, would appear
absurd. He was a man of active habits, and vigorous
both m mmd and body. Here was no case of a man
living m the house and influencing an old gentleman ap-
proaching his dotage. They met only at clubs and at
dinners; and although the General was rightly and
naturally attached to Simcoe, he was certainly not a
man to be influenced against his will. I beg, therefore
to ask, my lord, that you will pronounce in favor of this
second will, and issue an order to the trustees to carry
out its provisions forthwith."

"But upon the face of your appeal to the court, Sir
Henry, there is no question as to the validity of the will
you propound set up by the trustees?"

" None, my lord. In fact, at the time the case was put
down we were ignorant that there would be any attempt
on the part of the trustees to dispute the second will
and that they should do so came upon us as a surprise'
However, at a consultation between my learned friend
and myself just before we came into court, it was agreed
that, if your lordship would permit it, we would take the
two matters at once. One of the trustees is a member

322 £HE LOST HEIR.

of the firm who are and have been the family lawyers
of General Mathieson, and of his father before him, for
a long period of years. They are gentlemen of well-
known honor, who are, I am sure, as anxious as we are
to obtain from your lordship a judicial decision on which
they can act."

" It is irregular," the judge said, " but as both parties
seemed agreed upon it, it will doubtless save much
expense to the estate if the whole matter can be settled
at once. I will permit the whole matter to be taken.
Now, brother Herbert, we will hear you on the other
side."

" I am sorry to say, my lord, that it will be impossible
for me to imitate my learned brother in the brevity with
which he opened the case. So far from the facts being
extremely simple, they are, I may say, of a very compli-
cated nature. We own that we have no explanation to
offer with regard to the second will. It was strange,
very strange, that General Mathieson, a man of methodi-
cal habits, having just drawn up his will, should go to
another firm of solicitors and draw up a fresh one, but
the fact that the whole of the minor bequests are the
same in the two wills is certainly a very strong proof, as
also is the fact that the instructions for drafting the will
were written by the General himself, or, at any rate, by
someone intimately acquainted with the contents of that
will, which we admit was difficult to believe could be the
case, as the will, from the time it was signed by the
General, has not been out of Messrs. Farmer & Petti-
grew's hands until it was taken for probate the other day.

" Now, my lord, I trust that you will allow me a
certain amount of license while I go into this somewhat
singular story. Twenty-three years ago, General Mathie-
son's life was saved in India by Mr. John Simcoe. Mr.
Simcoe himself was seriously wounded, and when he recov-
ered somewhat he was reccommended by the surgeon
who attended him to go down to Calcutta at once and
take a sea voyage. He did so, and embarked upon the
ship N&pauL which was lost in a terrible gale in the

A CRUSHING EXPOSURE. 323

Bay of Bengal a few days later, with, as was supposed,
all hands. Twenty years passed, and then to the sur-
prise, and I may say to the delight of the General, who
had much grieved over the loss of his preserver, Mr.
Simcoe presented himself. For a moment the General did
not recognize him; hut it was not long before he became
convinced of his identity, for he knew the officers who had
been at the station at the time, and was well up in the
gossip of the place, and the General at once hailed him
as the man who had saved his life, introduced him to
many friends, got him put up at a good club, and became,
I may say, very fond of him. Mr. Simcoe brought up a
friend or two who had known him at Stowmarket, where
he had an aunt still living, and the result of all this was
that the General requested Messrs. Farmer & Pettigrew
to draw up a new will bequeathing to John SimcoeDthe
sum of ten thousand pounds.

"Then came the singular episode of the second will.
A fortnight later, when at dinner at his club, the General
was smitten with a strange kind of fit, from which he
recovered, but only lived for a few months, a half-para-
lyzed invalid. He was attended during that time by
Dr. Leeds— a gentleman with a very high reputation,
and now practicing in Harley Street as a consulting
physician. The General was brought up to town, but
broke down during the journey and died two days later.

* Aow we come to the second strange fact in this
strange case. A day before his death his grandson,
Walter Eivmgton, was missing. The efforts of the
police, aided by a number of private detectives, failed
to obtain any clew to the child until a body w«s found
m the canal at Paddington. That the body was dressed
in some of the clothes worn by the child when carried off
was unquestionable;' but the three persons who knew
Walter Eivington best, namely, Miss Covington, a friend
of hers named Miss Purcell, who had been all the sum-
mer assisting her to nurse General Mathieson, and the
child s own nurse, all declared that the body was not that
of the General's grandson. They were unable to adduce

324 THE LOST HEIE.

anything in support of this belief beyond the fact that
the hair of the child found was short and to some extent
bristly, whereas that of Walter Kivington was long and
silky. The jury, however, adopted the view of the coro-
ner that hair, however soft, when cut close to the skull
will appear more or less bristly, and gave a verdict to the
effect that the body was that of Walter Eivington. Miss
Covington and her friends refused to accept the verdict,
and continued their search for the child.

" Without occupying your attention by going into de-
tails, my lord, I may briefly say that a close watch was
set on Mr. Simcoe, and it was found that he was exceed-
ingly intimate with a man of whom no one seemed to
know anything; and before I go further I will ask, my
lord, that you will give orders that Mr. Simcoe shall not
leave the court until I' have finished/'

"You are not asking without strong reason, I trust,
brother Herbert? "

" Certainly not, my' lord."

The order was, therefore, given. Simcoe grew very
white in the face, but otherwise maintained an air of
stolid indifference.

" I will now go back for a moment, my lord. General
Mathieson was attended by three of the leading physi-
cians in London at the time of his seizure. The symp-
toms were so peculiar that in all their experience they
had not met a similar case. Dr. Leeds, however, differed
from them, but being their junior could not press his
opinion; but he told them that his opinion was that the
fit was due to the administration of some drug unknown
to the British Pharmacopoeia, as the effects were pre-
cisely similar to those in cases that he had read of in
Africa and among other savage people, where a poison
of this kind was used by the native fetich men or wizards.
That opinion was confirmed rather than diminished by
the subsequent progress of the malady and the final
death of his patient. The one man who could benefit
by the General's death was sitting next to him at dinner
at the time of his seizure, and that man, according to

A CRUSHING EXPOSURE. 325

his own statement, had been for many years knocking
about among the savages of the South Sea Islands and
the islands of the Malay Archipelago.

" I do not accuse John Simcoe of this crime, but I
need hardly say that the mere possibility of such a thing
heightened the strong feeling entertained by Miss Cov-
ington that Simcoe was the author of the abduction of
Walter Rivington. She and her devoted friend, Miss
Purcell, pursued their investigations with unflagging
energy. They suspected that the man who was very
intimate with Simcoe had acted as his agent in the
matter, and a casual remark which was overheard in a
singular manner, which will be explained when the case
goes into another court, that this man was going to
Tilbury, gave them a clew. Then, in a manner which
many persons might find it very hard to believe, Miss
Covington learned" from a conversation between the two
men, when together in a box at Her Majesty's Theater,
that the lad was in charge of a bargeman living near
the little village of Pitsea, in Essex. From that place,
my lord, he was brought last week, and Miss Covington
will produce him in court, if your lordship wishes to see
him. Thus, then, it is immaterial to us whether your
lordship pronounces for the first or second will.

" But, my lord, I have not finished my story. Under
neither of the wills does that man take a farthing. The
"money was left to John Simcoe; and John Simcoe was
drowned over twenty years ago. The man standing over
there is one William Sanderson, a sergeant on the pay-
master's staff at Benares when the real John Simcoe was
there. There happened to be a resemblance between
this man and him, so strong that it was generally re-
marked upon by his comrades. This man Sanderson de-
serted soon after Simcoe was drowned, taking with him
three hundred pounds of the paymaster's money.
There was a sharp hue and cry after him, but he man-
aged to make his escape. All this is a certainty, but we
may assume without much difficulty that the man
changed his name as soon aft he got to Caleut+a. and

32f THE LOST HEIR.

nothing was more likely than that he should take th©
name of John Sirncoe, whom he had been told that he
so strongly resembled.

" For twenty years we hear nothing further of William
Sanderson, nor do we hear when he returned to London.
Probably he, in 'some way or other, came across the
name of General Mathieson, and remembering what
John Simcoe had done for the General, he, on the
strength of his personal likeness, and the fact that he
had, for twenty years, gone by that name, determined
to introduce himself to him, with the result you know.
He was clever enough to know that he must answer
questions as to his history before he left England, and
it was desirable to obtain witnesses who would, if neces-
sary, certify to him. But he knew nothing of Simcoe's
birthplace or history; so he inserted advertisements in a
great number of London and provincial newspapers, say-
ing that the relations of the John Simcoe who was sup-
posed to have been droAvned in the Bay of Bengal in
the year 1832 would hear of something to their ad-
vantage at the address given. A maiden aunt, living at
Stowmarket, did reply. He went down there at once,
rushed into her arms and called her aunt, and told her
that it was his intention to make her comfortable for
life by allowing her fifty pounds per annum. He stayed
with her for three days, and during that time obtained
from her gossip full details of his boyhood and youth,
■his friends and their occupation, and he then went out
and called upon John Simcoe's old companions, all of
whom took him on his own word and his knowledge of
the past and his recognition by his aunt.

" So things might have remained. This man, after
undergoing what punishment might be awarded to him
for his abduction of Walter Rivington, could have
claimed the ten thousand pounds left him by General
Mathieson, had it not been that, by what I cannot but
consider a dispensation of Providence, an old comrade
of his, Staff-Sergeant Nichol, was attracted to the mill
this morning by seeing the name of Simcoe and that of

A CRUSHING EXPOSUK^. 32fjT

General Mathieson coupled in the cause list. This man
was in the hall talking to his professional advisers, and
Nichol, walking close to him, to see if he could recognize
the man whom he had last seen carried wounded into
Benares, at once recognized in the supposed John Sinicoe
the deserter and thief, Sergeant Sanderson. He passed
him two or three times, to assure himself that he was
not mistaken. Happily the deserter had a mark that was
ineffaceable; he had, as a recruit, let off his rifle, and the
ball had passed through the fleshy part of the forearm,
leaving there, as Sergeant Mchol has informed me, an1
ineffaceable scar, blackened by powder. If this man is
not Sergeant Sanderson, and is the long-lost John
Simcoe, he has but to pull up the sleeve of his left arm
and show that it is without scar."

The man did not move; he was half stunned by the
sudden and terrible exposure of the whole of his plans.
As he did not rise the counsel said:

" My lord, I must ask that you give an order for the
arrest of this man, William Sanderson, as a deserter and]
a thief; also upon the charge of conspiring, with others,
the abduction of Walter Eivington."

" Certainly, brother Herbert," the judge said, as he
saw that the accused made no motion to answer the
challenge of the counsel. " Tipstaff, take that man into
custody on the charge of aiding in the abduction of
Walter Eivington. As to the other charge, I shall com-
municate with the authorities of the India Office, and1
leave it to them to prosecute if they choose to do so.
After this lapse of years they may not think it worth!
while to do so, especially as the man is in custody on a
still graver charge."

The tipstaff moved toward the man, who roused
himself with a great effort, snatched a small glass ball
from a pocket inside his waistcoat, thrust it between
his teeth, and bit it into fragments, and, as the officer
laid his hand upon him, fell down in a fit. Dr. Leeds,
who had come in just as the trial began, rose to his feet.

"I am a doctor, my lord. My name is Leeds, and the

828 THE LOST HEIR.

opinion I held of the cause of General Mathieson's death'
is now proved to be correct. The symptoms of this fit
are precisely similar to those of General Mathieson's
seizure, and this man has taken some of the very poison
with which he murdered the General."

For a minute Sanderson struggled in violent convul-
sions, then, as Dr. Leeds bent over him, his head fell
back suddenly. Dr. Leeds felt his pulse and then rose
to his feet.

" My lord," he said, " the case is finally closed. Efe
lias gone to a higher judgment seat."

■i-cs

CHAPTEE XXVI.

A LETTER FROM ABROAD.

Three days later, when Hilda returned from a drive,
she found that Dr. Leeds was in the drawing room with
Miss Purcell and Netta, whose face at once told what
had happened.

" I have asked the question at last, Miss Covington,"
Dr. Leeds said, coming forward to shake hands, "and
Netta has consented to be my wife."

" I am heartily glad. That you would ask her I knew
from what you told me; and although I knew nothing of
her thoughts in the matter, I felt sure that she would
hardly say no. Netta, darling, I am glad. Long ago I
thought and hoped that this would come about. It
seemed to me that it would be such a happy thing."

" Auntie said just the same thing," Netta said, smiling
through her tears, as Hilda embraced her. " As you
both knew, you ought to have given me seme little hint;
then I should not have been taken quite by surprise. I
might have pretended that I did not quite know my own
mind, and ask for time to think it over, instead of sur-
rendering at once."

"But you did make a condition, Netta," Dr. Leeds
laughed.

" Not a condition — a request, if you like, but certainly
not a condition."

"Netta said that her heart was greatly set on the
work she had always looked forward to, and she hoped
that I should let her do something in that way still. Of
course I have heard you both talk over that institute a
score of times, and I was as much impressed as your-
selves with the enormous boon that it would be. I
should be sorry indeed that the plan should be siven

330 THE LOST HEIR.

up. I need hardly say that in the half hour we have
had together we did not go deeply into it, but we will
have a general council about it, as soon as we can get
down to plain matter of fact. Netta can talk it over
with you, and I can talk it over with her; and then we
can hold a meeting, with Miss Purcell as president of
the committee."

But matters were not finally settled until the ladies
were established at Holmwood with Walter, and Dr.
Leeds came down for a short holiday of two or three
days. Then the arrangements were made to the satis-
faction of all parties. A Inrge house, standing in grounds
of considerable extent, was to be taken in the suburbs
of London, Netta was to be lady superintendent, her
aunt assisting in the domestic arrangements. Miss Pur-
cell insisted that her savings should be used for furnish-
ing the house. Hilda was to put in as a loan, for the
others would receive it in no other way, five thousand
pounds for working capital. She determined to take a
house near the institute, so that she could run in and out
and assist Netta in teaching. Dr. Leeds was to drive
up every morning to Harley Street, where his work was
over by two o'clock, except when he had to attend con-
sultations. No arrangements would be necessary about
the house, as this was the residence of his partner, and
he only had his own set of rooms there. He was steadily
making his way, and to his surprise already found that
the report in the papers of his successful diagnosis of
the cause of General Mathieson's death had resulted in
a considerable addition to his practice, as a number of
people consulted him on obscure, and in many cases
fanciful, maladies, in which they had come to entertain
the idea that they were suffering from the effects of
poison.

Now that she was going to assist at the institution
and had no intention of entering society again in London,
Hilda had no longer any objection to the power she had
acquired being known, and, when questioned on the sub-
ject of the trial, made no secret of the manner ™ which

A LETTER FROM ABROAh. 331

she had made the discovery at the opera, and mentioned
that she was going to assist in an institution that was
about to be established for teaching the system by which
she had benefited to deaf children.

The matter excited considerable interest in medical
circles, and by the time that -the institution was ready
the number of applicants was greater than could be en-
tertained. By this time Dr. Leeds and Netta were mar-
ried. The engagement was" a short one, and the wedding
took place within two months of their going down into
the country with Hilda. Being anxious that as many as
possible should participate in the benefits of the system,
the doors of the institute were at once opened to out-
door pupils, who were boarded in the neighborhood. Six
of Netta's pupils in Hanover were brought over as
teachers, and a few weeks from its being opened the
institution was in full swing. As Dr. Leeds wished that
no profit whatever be made by the undertaking, in which
desire he was cordially joined by his wife and Hilda, the
charges were extremely low, except in the case of children
of wealthy parents, the surplus in their case being de-
voted to taking in, free of payment, children of the
poor.

Before Netta's marriage the interest in the Mathieson
case was revived by the appearance of a letter in the
principal London papers. All search for the man who
had assisted Sanderson in the abduction of the child
had been fruitless. He had probably taken steps to re-
ceive information of how matters were going on in court,
and long before an officer arrived at Rose Cottage with
a warrant for his arrest he had left, and the police had
failed to find any trace of his subsequent movements.
The letter bore the simple heading, " United States,''
and ran as follows:

" To the Editor.

"Sir: I scarcely know why I write this letter, but I
Guppose even an habitual criminal does not care to re-
main under an unjust suspicion. I acknowledge that I

332 THE LOST HEIR.

come under that category, and that my life has been
spent in crime, although never once has suspicion
attached to me, until I became mixed up in the Simcoe-
Mathieson affair. I wish to state solemnly that I was
absolutely ignorant that the name John Simcoe was an
assumed one. That was the name he gave me when I
first knew him, and I believed that he was, as he repre-
sented, the man who had saved General Mathieson's life
from a tiger. That he had subsequently lived a rough
life in the South Seas I was aware, for he came to me
with a message sent by a brother of mine when at the
point of death. The man had been a chum of his out
there and had gallantly carried him off when he had
received the wound from which he subsequently died,
in a fight with a large body of natives. I have absolute
assurance that this was true, for my brother would never
have sent anyone to me except under altogether ex-
traordinary circumstances. The man called on me when
he first returned to England, but I saw little of him
for the first two years, and then he came to me and said
that he had looked up General Mathieson, and that the
General had taken to him, and put him down in his will
for ten thousand pounds. He said that General Mathie-
son was worth a hundred thousand, and that he had
planned to get the whole. Not being in any way
squeamish, I agreed at once to help him in any way in
my power.

"His plan briefly was that he should obtain a fresh
will, appointing him sole heir to the General's estate in
the event of a boy of six or seven years old dying before
he came of age. He had somehow obtained a copy of
the General's will, and had notes in the General's hand-
writing. There were two things to be done, first that he
should get instructions for the draft of the will drawn
up in precise imitation of the General's handwriting,
containing all the provisions of the former will, except
that he was made heir in place of Miss Covington in the
event of his grandson's death. There are a dozen men in
London who can imitate handwriting so as to defy de-

A LETTER FROM ABROAD. 333

tection, and I introduced him to one of them, who drew
up the instructions. Then I introduced him to a man

who is the cleverest I know — and I know most of them

at getting up disguises.

"He had already ascertained that the General had
on one occasion been for a minute or two in the offices
of Messrs. Halstead & James. They would, therefore,
have a vague, and only a vague, remembrance of him!
He had obtained a photograph of the General, who was
about his own height and figure, and although there was
no facial resemblance, the man, by the aid of this photo-
graph, converted him into a likeness of the General that
would pass with anyone who had seen him but once
casually. So disguised, he went to the offices of these
solicitors, told a plausible story, and gave them the
written instructions. In the meantime he had been
practicing the General's signature, and being a good pen-
man had got to imitate it so accurately that I doubt if
any expert would have suspected the forgery. The
lawyers were completely deceived, and he had only to
go there again three days later, in the same disguise, and
sign the will. &

" So much for that. Then came the General's seizure.
I most solemnly declare that I had no shadow of suspicion
that it was not a natural fit, and that if I had had such a
suspicion I should have chucked the whole thing over at
once, for though, as I have said, an habitual criminal,
that is to say, one who plans and directs what may be
called sensational robberies, I have always insisted that
the men who have worked under me should go unpro-
vided with arms of any kind, and in no case in which I
have been concerned has a drop of blood been shed. As
to the carrying off of the boy, it was entirely managed
by me. I had agents, men on whom I could rely, al a
word of mine would have sent them to penal servitude
for life. We knew that suspicion would fall upon Simcoe,
and that it was important that he should be able to ac-
count for every hour of his time. Therefore, on the day
the child was carried away he went down to Stowmarket,

334 TEE LOST HEIR.

while I managed the affair and took the child down t®
the place where he was hidden in the Essex marshes. It
was I also who made the arrangements by which the
body of 1?he child about the same age, who had died in
the workhouse, was placed in the canal in some of the
clothes the missing heir had worn when taken away. I
owe it to myself to say that in all this there was no
question of payment between this man and myself. I
am well off, and I acted simply to oblige a man who had
stood by the side of my brother to death. Whether his
name was Simcoe or Sanderson mattered nothing to me;
I should have aided him just the same. But I did believe
that it was Simcoe, and that, having risked his life to
save that of General Mathieson, he had as good a right
as another to his inheritance. He never hinted to me
that it would be a good thing if the child was got rid of
altogether. He knew well enough that if he had done
so I would not only have had nothing to do with it, but
that I would have taken steps to have put a stop to his
game altogether. Now I have only to add that, having
fairly stated the part that I bore in this affair, I have
nothing more to say, except that I have now retired
from business altogether, and that this is the last that
the world will hear of William Sanderson's accomplice."

For four or five years Hilda Covington devoted much
of her time to assisting Netta Leeds in her work, but
at the end of that time she married. Her husband was
a widower, whose wife had died in her first confinement.
His name was Desmond. He sold out of the army, and
Hilda never had reason to regret that she had played
the part of a gypsy woman at Lady Moulton's fete.

Walter grew up strong and healthy, and is one of the
most popular men of his county. His early love for the
water developed, and he served his time as a midship-
man in one of Her Majesty's ships, and passed as a
lieutenant. He then retired from the service and
bought a fine yacht, which he himself commanded. His
friends were never able to understand why he allowed

A LETTER FROM ABROAD. 835

!his nominal skipper, William Nibson, to take his wife
on board, and gave up two cabins for their accommoda-
tion. The barge Walter passed into the hands of Joshua,
iwho, for many years, sailed her most successfully. He
is new an elderly man, and his four sons are skippers of
as many fine barges, all his own property.

THE ENDe

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laws of arrest, with 125 cita-
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Booent ciuzen to know his rights in time of trouble.

Cloth, . . 25C Leather, . 50c

plIte Civil Service Manual

HOW TO PREPARE FOR EXAMINATIONS
HOW TO OBTAIN POSITIONS

CONTAINS also Sample Questions for Examinations, embrac-
ing all the public offices and positions in the National, City,
County and State Governments. ~ Giving full details of the hist-
ory, aims, cnpportunities, rules, regulations and requirements of
the Civil Service. By Prof, C. M. Steveas, Ph. D. 114 pagss.
Vest Pocket size, bound in flexible cloth.

Price, Cloth, . . 25c Leather, gilt edges, 50C

For sale by all bock and newsdealers or sent postpaid fco any i
address in the United States, Canada or Mexico upon receipt of f

price m currency, postal or express money order.

M. A. DONOHUE & GO.

701-727 S. Dearborn Street CHICAGO

■X'-.:^ i£*-'i

WORKS OF
JAMES OTIS

Down the Si©p@

Hesssnger 4S

Teddy

Telegraph Tow'* Venture

PRICE 75 CEWTS, POSTPAID.

CHICAGO

M. A. Donohue $t Co,

Alger Series

For Boys

The publio and popular verdict for
many years haa approved of the Alger
series of books as among the most
wholesome of all Btories for boys. To
meet the continued demand for these
books in the most attractive style of
the binder's art, we have made this
special edition in ornamental designs
in three colors, stamped on side and
back. Clear, large type is used on
superior super-finish paper. The elab-
orate designs are stamped opon binder's
English linen cloth, with side and back
titles in large letterings. Each book in
printed wrapper. 12mo oloth.

1 Adrift in New York

30

Paul Presoott's Charge

2 Andy Gordon

31

Paul, the Peddler

3 Andy Grant's Pluck

32

Phil, the Fiddler

4 Bob Burton

33

Ralph Raymond's Hei*

5 Bound to Rise

34

Risen from the Ranks

6 Brave and Bold

35

Sam's Chance

7 Cash Boy, The

8 Charlie Codman's Cruise

36

Shifting for Himself

37

Sink or Swim

9 Chester Rand

38

Slow and Sure

10 Cousin's Conspiracy, A

39

Store Boy, The

11 Do and Dare

40

Strive and Succeed

12 Driven From Home

41

Strong and Steady

13 Erie Train Boy

42

Struggling Upward

14 Facing the World

15 Five Hundred Dollars

43

Telegraph Boy, The

44

Tin Box, The

16 Frank's Campaign

45

Tom, the Boot Black

17 Grit; The Young Boatman

46

Tonv, the Tramp

18 Herbert Carter's Legaoy

47

Try and Trust

19 Hector's Inheritance

48

Wait and Hope

20 Helping Himself

49

Walter Sherwood's

21 In a New World

Probation

22 Jack's Ward

50

Wren Winter's Triumph

23 Jed, the Poor House Boy

51

Young Aerobat

24 Joe's Luck

52

Young Adventurer, The

25 Julius, the Street Boy

53

Young Explorer

26 Luke Walton

54

Young Miner

27 Making His Way

28 Mark Mason's Victory

55

Young Musician

56

Young Outlaw

29 Only an Irish Boy

57

Young Salesman

ALWAYS ASK FOR

the DONOHUE

Complete Editions and you will get the

best for the least money

All of the above books may bo had at the store where this
book was bought, or will be sent postpaid at 50 cents each by the
publishers

M. A. DONOHUE

701-727 S. DEARBORN ST.

&

COMPANY

:: CHICAGO

[always ask for the donohue!

I Complete Editions and you will get the beat for the least money

"Jack Harkaway"

Series of Books

For Boys

By Bracebridge Hemyng

"For • regular thriller com*
mead me to 'Jack Harkaway.'"

This edition of Jaok Harkaway
Is printed from large olear type,
new plates, on & very eupenor
.quality of book paper and the
ppoks are substantially bound in
binders' cloth. The covers are
unique and attractive, each title
having a separate cover in color*
from new dies. Each book in
printed wrapper, with »>ove»
design and title. Cloth 12mo.

Jack Harkaway's School Days
Jack Harkaway After School Days
Jack Harkaway Afloat and Ashore
Jack Harkaway at Oxford
Jack Harkaway's Adventures at Oxford!
Jack Harkaway Among the Brigands of Italy
Jack Harkaway's Escape From the BrigandT
of Italy

8 Jack Harkaway's Adventures Around the World
«J *ac,k Harkaway in America and Cuba
19 Jack Harkaway's Adventures in China
\\ i , Harkaway'sfcAdventures in Greece
U Jack Harkaway's Escape From the Brigands

of Greece
\l J^ Harkaways Adventures in Australia
\\ ¥"£ Harkaway and His Boy Tinker
is Jack Harkaway's Boy Tinker Among the Turks
We will send any of the above titles postpaid to any address. Each

75c
At A. DONOHUE & CO.

-^-m D4ARBORN STREET u CHICAGO

ALWAYS ASK FOR THE DONOHUE

Complete Editions and you will get the best for the least money

Henty Series

FOR BOYS

fiTT G. A. Henty was the most prolific writer of boy'a
Hji stories of the nineteenth century. From two to
Til five books a year came from his facile pen. No
Christmas holidays were complete without a new
"Henty Book." This new series comprises 45 titles.
They are printed on an extra quality of paper, from
new plates and bound in the b^st quality of cloth,
stamped on back and aide in inks from unique and
attractive dies. 12 mo. cloth. Each book in a printed
wrapper.

1 Among Malay Pirates

2 Bonnie Prince Charlie

3 Boy Knight, The

4 Bravest of the Bsave

5 By Bngland's Aid

6 By Pike ana Dyke

7 By Right of Ccnqaest

8 By Sheer Pluck

9 Captain. Bayley's Heir

10 Cat of Bubastes

1 1 Col. Thorndyke's Secre9

12 Cornet of Horse, The

13 Dragon and the Raven

14 Facing Death

15 Final Reckoning, A

16 For Name and Fame
87 Forth© Temple

18 Friends, Though Divided
I? Golden Canon
20 In Freedom's Cause
28 In the Reign of Terror

22 In Times of Peril

23 Jack Archer

24 Lion of St. Mark

25 lion of the North

26 Lost Heir, The

27 Maori and Settler

28 Q~sot the 28th

29 O-nnge astf Green

30 Oat on the Pampas

31 Queen's Cup, The

32 Rujub. the Juggler

33 St. George for %x /and

34 Sturdy and Strong
33 Through the Fray

36 True tb the Old Fl: g

37 Under Drake's Flag

38 With Clive in India

35 With J^« !Q Virginia

40 With Wolfe in Canada

4 1 Young Buglers, The

42 Young Carthagmiacs

43 Young Colonists, The

44 Young Franc-Xtreurs

45 Young Midshipman

All of above titles can be procured at the store where this
book was bought, or sent to any addcesa for 59c. postage paid,
by the publishers

M. Ac DONOHUE & CO.,

701=?27 South Dearborn Street - • CHICAGO

14 DAY USE

RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED

LOAN DEPT.

This book is due on the last date stamped below, or

on the date to which renewed.

Renewed books are subject to immediate recall.

AUG 12 Ida/

ibOcWW

/250c'6lGfi

■■»:

NOV 15 197'

3 9

.-.

OCT l a 74

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